Beyond What Came Before
by Shezzly
Summary: COMPLETED. Ron comes back to Hogwarts for his seventh and final school year, and finds himself struggling with previously unacknowledged feelings. RHG, and HG. Fluff and other stuff.
1. Arrival

A/N – I'm back, after having my 'nice rest' (not too long for you, I hope). This is my latest attempt. It's R/HG (clearly), hopefully with a decent amount of H/G thrown in, and is a seventh year fic, told from Ron's point of view. Somebody suggested this, and I thought I'd give it a shot. Updates may not be as frequent as 'Aftermath', but I will do my utmost not to leave you more than two or three days without one. Rated R again, just in case. Well – here goes. ~no more 3x5s~ Shezzly XXOO 

~

At five to eleven on the first of September, Ron Weasley went stumbling through the barrier onto Platform 9 and ¾, closely followed by his cranky, and rather dishevelled, twin brothers. 

"Thanks for dropping me," Ron said, trying to get his fallen-over trunk upright. 

"Shut it," George said shortly, as Fred took hold of Ron's luggage and marched ahead to the eagerly puffing Hogwarts Express. "You know we'd much rather drop you on your bloody head for dragging us away from our business deal."

He took hold of Ron's shoulder and steered him towards the train. Fred, after handing the old trunk over to a baggage loader, turned to face Ron with his hands on his hips. 

"I'm sorry," Ron said, rather desperately. "Mum's at the Ministry with Dad, and Bill's at work, and Charlie's overseas, and you're my _brothers _anyway. You were my last resort. Sorry, sorry."

The twins narrowed their eyes at him, in a weirdly identical fashion. 

Finally, just as Ron was beginning to wince in anticipation of a blow to the face, Fred said, in injured tones: "We were your last resort?"

The twins were terrible when they were angry – they'd avoid speaking to you for weeks if necessary, and could be awfully cutting. Ron hated arguing with them (no matter how seldom he did so – brief, explosive encounters with their pranks notwithstanding), but of course, couldn't showhis relief. That's not what brothers did. He rolled his eyes instead, and pushed past them to get onto the train. 

"Have a lovely year, Ronnekins," George called, anger forgotten, blowing him a kiss. 

"Yes, dear," added Fred, in an uncanny imitation of their mother, "don't get into any more trouble, or your father and I will be up to see the headmaster."

"I haven't been in _real _trouble for ages," Ron protested, but by this time the train doors were slamming closed of their own accord, and the clock was striking a resonant eleven. He waved to his brothers through the glass, and they waved back, waiting for the train to leave – more out of habit, he suspected, than any sense of responsibility. 

Slowly, the Expresschugged into motion, and within the space of a minute, was steaming pleasantly into the countryside. 

Ron sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. It was strange not to have his mother or sister with him. Ginny was staying with Hermione these past two weeks, and he presumed the two girls had come together. He hadn't seen much of Harry this summer either, largely on Dumbledore's orders. They'd met once in London to buy their books, and Harry had seemed rather miserable, in fact. Ron was pretty sure the Dursleys had been getting him down – but it had been a very quiet sixth year, with barely a murmur from Voldemort, and Dumbledore was suspicious enough to disallow Harry's usual stay at The Burrow.

_Speaking of Harry and 'Mione_¸ he thought, and went off down the corridor to find them. 

~

He slid the door to Compartment 12 open, and saw Harry and Ginny sitting opposite one another, talking quietly. They both jumped as the door grated, and then Harry stood.

"Hello," he said, and Ron grinned.

"Hello, stranger. How's things?"

Harry shrugged, but was clearly pleased to see him. They shook hands. 

"Boys, for heaven's sake," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. 

"What?" Ron protested. 

"Nothing." He sat next to her, and she gave him a quick sideways hug. "Miss me?"

"Not particularly, no," he said, and she hit him on the arm. It hurt, but he pretended it didn't. There was a brief, comfortable silence. 

"So," Ron said eventually. "Where's Hermione?"

Harry raised his eyebrows at Ginny. "Ah – didn't she tell you?"

"Didn't she tell me what?" he asked, feeling a sudden, odd writhing in his stomach. "Why, has something happened?"

"No, no," Harry said quickly. "Well, yes. But nothing bad."

"So what, then?"

"Well – she's Head Girl."

Ron stared at him, and then laughed out loud, incredulous. "Head Girl? Our 'Mione?"

"Don't sound so surprised," Ginny said. 

"Oh, I'm not surprised exactly. We all sort of knew, didn't we? But – bloody hell, it means we're really there, aren't we? We're really in our last year."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, but he looked a little shifty. Ron's smile faded as he eyed Harry, who looked even more uncomfortable.

"What?" Ron demanded. "What else?"

"Nothing," Ginny insisted. She shot a quick, loaded glance at Harry, who was focussed on something out the window. 

"Oh, come on. It's not like I won't find out eventually."

"You will," Ginny agreed firmly. "But not from us."

Ron was just about to protest when the door slid open again to reveal a rather flustered Hermione, her robes skewiff and her wild hair falling out of its band. 

"Oh, here you are," she said, in a mixture of relief and confusion. "Has anybody noticed a first year by the name of Duncan Dowry?"

"Nice to see you too," Ron said, and she glanced at him. 

"Sorry, sorry," she said irritably. "It's not you. And shouldn't you be in the prefect's compartment?"

"Who's going to care?" said Ron airily, and for once, Hermione didn't even argue.

"I have to find this _bloody _first year," she continued, and Ron knew she was worried then, because she never cursed. "He definitely got on the train, but now no-one knows where he is. Have you seen him?"

"Sorry Hermione," Harry said. "Me and Gin have been in here the whole time."

"Ron?" she said desperately. 

He shook his head. "No. But I'll help if you like."

"No, no," she said, waving a hand. "No, you all stay here. Don't panic. No need to panic."

She swept out, only half-shutting the door behind her. A few moments later they could hear her rapid knocking on the next compartment.

Ron sighed, and couldn't suppress a smile. "It's good to be back," he said. And it was. It was good to be back on the train, with his best mates, heading for a feast and a decent night's sleep, even if there _would _be school after it all. 

They played Exploding Snap, and ate loads of sweets, and pretty soon he'd forgotten about the strange half-secret the other two were keeping from him.

~

"Stupid rotten bloody weather," Ron muttered as they came into the Great Hall. "I'm freezing."

"Me too," said Ginny. Her hair was wet, even after the half-hearted drying charm they'd put together, and she was shivering. 

Harry said nothing. Ron looked at him quickly, and then looked away. He was clearly deep in thought, and Ron never knew what to do when Harry was so concentrated. Usually, he ignored it, and felt inadequate. 

They found places at the Gryffindor table, which was filling quickly. Ron waved to Seamus and Dean, who were just coming in, and put a hand on the empty spot beside him, saving it for Hermione. 

She came in at the very last, when the room was just beginning to quiet for the Sorting. She was soaking wet, but composed. 

"Oi. 'Mione!" he hissed, and waved a hand at her. A few people looked at him, including Hermione. She nodded and performed the self-drying spell before coming over. 

"Thanks," she said quietly, slipping in and squeezing his arm briefly. "Sorry about before."

"That's OK," he said, feeling his face go red. Her hand was still a little damp and left a coolness on his skin. He willed himself to stop flushing. He didn't know why he was doing it. "You find him?"

"In the luggage compartment," she said, rolling her eyes. She would have gone on, but then the doors slammed open and McGonagall entered, in all her formidability, and Hermione fell immediately silent. 

The Sorting dragged out, and, as usual, Ron's mind wandered. He looked at Harry, sitting quietly beside his sister, and then up to the staff table. Hagrid wasn't there. He'd gone on another expedition into giant country in the middle of last year, and still hadn't turned up. He was months overdue. Most were convinced he was dead, and Ron, to his shame, was beginning to agree. 

He pushed that particular thought away. It was his first day back. He wasn't going to think about all of that dark stuff if he could help it.

His gaze ran over the Gryffindors. It was still odd not to have the twins around. Their joke shop was taking off, though, and they were happier than Ron had ever seen them. They were flatting in London with Lee Gordon and Angelina Johnson. 

Dean Thomas smiled at him, and Ron managed a weak smile back. Dean had dated Ginny for half of the previous year, and then dumped her unceremoniously, right before the Yule Ball. He knew Dean felt bad about it now, and was constantly trying to redeem himself, but Ron continued to harbour a certain resentment. 

He was just turning to look at the other tables when Dumbledore stood.

"Thank you, Professor McGonagall," he said loudly. The Sorting had wrapped itself up without him even noticing (nice, that), and Dumbledore was launching into his beginning of year speech. Ron could almost see the collective 'sitting up' of the Hogwarts students. He wondered if the headmaster would be controversial this year – beside him, Hermione was (quite unconsciously, he thought) wringing her hands. 

"Welcome," Dumbledore went on, "to another year at Hogwarts. I hope you enjoy it as much as I intend to. I will inform you, yet again, that no student is to enter the Forbidden Forest without a staff member's supervision, and that the list of banned objects this year is hanging in Mr Filch's office."

There was a brief pause. The whole room was hanging on his words. Despite himself, Ron was holding his breath to hear the rest of it – the allusions to Voldemort and their united struggle. 

What Dumbledore _did _say surprised him. 

"I'd like to introduce you to our Head Boy and Girl this year," he announced mildly, "in the hopes that you will all recognise them when seeking some student leadership. Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, please stand."

Ron almost stood himself, he was so shocked. Hermione, very nervous, rose to her feet, and across the room Malfoy did the same. 

Malfoy. 

Head Boy. 

He had to grit his teeth to stop himself screaming. 

True, Malfoy had converted to the side of Dumbledore's Army the previous year, when Lucius Malfoy escaped Azkaban and killed Draco's mother. Right in front of him. Apparently he'd been having doubts anyway, and that particular event had cemented those doubts. He'd been training with the DA ever since. Besides that, he'd lost his bullying and most of his nastiness, was generally polite, and even pleasant at times. He still remained largely aloof, but to all appearances, was decidedly changed. It was a small victory over Voldemort, to have the son of such a follower turn on the Dark Lord. (A/N – Same details as 'Aftermath', if you've read it).  

OK, Ron could understand that. Almost. That didn't mean he could _like_ Malfoy. There were years of enmity between them, and he just didn't believe that the snotty little first year who'd hated his, Harry's and Hermione's guts was buried. 

The thing was, Harry and Hermione _did. _Harry had even said once, at the end of a DA meeting, that he – in his own words – "trusted him".

Trust. Malfoy. A couple of years ago, it would have sounded ludicrous. 

And here he was, Head Boy. 

With Hermione. 

Now, beyond the confusion and the anger, he felt a sudden, hard rush of jealousy. His heart gave a funny leap as he looked up at Hermione, the Great Hall applauding, and thought of her and Malfoy spending time together. 

She sat down as soon as she possibly could, brushing her hair back behind an ear. 

"Merlin, that was embarrassing," she muttered. Food was appearing on the central serving dishes. She glanced up and saw Ron staring at her. "What?"

_If Malfoy tries anything, I'll make him wish he'd never been born_, he thought. 

"Congratulations," he said instead 

She frowned a little. It made a familiar crinkle above her nose. "Thanks," she replied, rather suspiciously. "I was going to tell you before, but the first year went missing and …" She trailed off. "You're – alright with this?"

"Fine," he said shortly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Ron …" she began, but he cut her off. He didn't want to talk about Malfoy. 

"Spotted dick?" he said forcefully, picking up a serving spoon. 

She looked at him a little longer, then sighed, and held out her plate.


	2. Good Morning, Hogwarts

When they were done, Ron sat back. He wanted to say 'Wow, that was good' or 'I've missed Hogwarts cooking' or something, but was too busy craning his neck to see what Malfoy was doing. 

When he found him, it wasn't very interesting. He was speaking quietly to a black-haired boy sitting next to him. 

Ron nudged the black-haired boy sitting next to _him_.

"What?" Harry said, turning slightly. 

"Was that what you didn't want to tell me?"

"Was what?"

"About Malfoy," he hissed.

Harry sighed. "Yeah, Ron. That's what we didn't want to tell you."

"It's a bloody good thing we didn't," Ginny interrupted. "Because you'd have gone to find him on the train and been expelled before we even got here."

"Shut up," Ron said, though it was true. He looked sidelong at Hermione. She was finishing her desert, while Seamus prattled away on her right. He was talking about the Irish quidditch team – it seemed he was under the impression that Hermione was a fellow supporter, and Hermione was too busy eating (or too polite) to inform him otherwise. 

Just as she put down her spoon, Dumbledore stood again. 

"I hope your meals were suitably delectable," he said, something of the old twinkle (not so often seen these days) in his eye. "Fifth-year prefects, please escort first-years to their common rooms."

"Not us," Ron said, leaning in to Hermione, but she did not appear to have heard him. 

"McGonagall wants to see us," she murmured distractedly.

"Why me?"

"No, not you." She hesitated. "Me and Malfoy. I just – I think I'd better go find him."

"He's right there," Ron said, trying to control his already mounting anger. "At the Slytherin table. I mean, it's not like you need to go hunting for …"

But she was already standing up, and then so was the rest of the table, and the rest of the Great Hall. She waved a quick goodbye, and ducked through the forming crowds, heading in the general direction of the new Head Boy. 

Harry and Ginny were waiting for him. He resisted the urge to shout after her, and stood abruptly. 

"Come on," he said. "I'm buggered."

"Er – me too," said Harry, glancing briefly at Ginny. "Common room?"

She opened her mouth, but Ron cut in. 

"Bed," he said firmly. "We should all just go to bed."

Ginny crossed her arms over her chest. "Don't tell me what to do."

"Who says I am?"

"You say you are."

"Well, look at you. You've got dark circles under your eyes."

"I do not," she said hotly, turning. "Harry, do I?"

Harry looked into her face for a few moments, and then blinked, and looked away. "No," he said, "I can't see any."

"Fine," said Ron. "You go to the common room. Me and Harry'll go to bloody bed like sensible bloody people."

"Fine. Do that. I'm going to see if there's a Welcome Back party."

And with that, she spun on her heel and marched out of the Great Hall.

"Why'd you want to go to bed?" Harry asked immediately, sounding a little annoyed. 

"I'm – tired."

_I don't want to see Hermione_ was his simultaneous, unvoiced thought. 

"Fine." Harry held up two hands in surrender. "Let's go."

~

There _was _a welcome party, as it turned out, but only a few people could work up the energy to enjoy it. Most everyone else was turning in. Ginny, very obstinately, was sitting by the fire, talking to Seamus – despite the fact that he was _still _on about the Irish team, and Ginny was more an England kind of girl. 

Despite himself, Ron was scanning for Hermione. She was nowhere to be seen. 

"Probably still talking to McGonagall," Harry pointed out.

"What? Who?"

"Hermione."

"Oh, right. Probably, I suppose. I wasn't thinking of her."

Harry nodded once, and they made their way up the stairs to their dorm. Dean Thomas was already in bed. Ron made a face at his drawn curtains, and Harry grinned a little. 

"Feeling five today?" he said. 

"Shut it." Ron touched the foot of his bed – a House Elf had slipped a warmer into it, and it felt fantastic. "God, this is the life."

"I've missed it," Harry admitted, changing quickly into his pyjamas. He was taller now, lean from quidditch, and Ron felt another little spark of jealousy. Harry was tall and lean – he was just lanky. He thrust the thought aside, and changed himself, before slipping into bed. There was a short, comfortable silence. Neither of them had drawn their curtains. 

"D'you suppose," Ron said eventually, "that 'Mione won't be spending so much time with us this year?"

"Why'd you say that?" Harry sounded sleepy, and was speaking into his pillow. 

"'Cos she's Head Girl and all that."

"Don't know. Thought you wanted to go to bed?"

"And bloody Malfoy," Ron went on, ignoring him.

"Malfoy's not so bad," Harry said wearily.

"What's not so bad about him?" Ron challenged. "That he's come over to the good guys and what? That he's not _as _nasty as he used to be?"

"I don't know. Maybe you should give him a chance."

"A chance?" Ron said, raising his voice. Dean mumbled a 'shut up' from behind his curtains, and Ron aimed his middle finger at him.

There was another silence. 

"How was your summer?" Ron asked, more quietly. 

Harry paused before answering. "It was shit," he said finally. "I don't know what I would have done without letters from all of you. Offed myself or something, probably."

Ron really didn't like hearing that last (it had been said lightly, but you never knew with Harry these days). "Yeah," he said cheerily, for want of anything better, "took some time, those letters. Poor Pig and Errol were overworked what with me _and_ Ginny sending stuff. And then 'Mione's bird would have had two loads as well, when Gin went to stay."

"I know. That was really nice of you all," Harry said. Ron looked at him, but he was facing the other way.  

"No trouble," Ron went on uneasily. "Not like I had anything else to do."

Another silence. Ron was beginning to wonder if Harry had fallen asleep when he spoke, quite softly and suddenly. 

"Heard anything on Hagrid?"

Ron bit his lip. That must have been what he was thinking of at dinner. Harry hadn't been very in touch with the wizarding world this summer. 

"Ah – no, mate. Sorry," Ron said awkwardly. 

Harry sighed heavily, and said nothing more. 

Ron lay back on his thick pillow, feeling rather helpless, and tried to sleep. But no matter how tired he had professed to be, he couldn't quite rid himself of the feeling of 'Mione's damp hand on his arm, or the sight of Malfoy standing to applause in the Great Hall.

_Stupid brain_, he thought fiercely. _Stop it._

Eventually, he drifted off.

~

Both Harry and Hermione were late to breakfast. Ron found this confusing – usually it was the other way round. 

"Where's 'Mione?" Ron said, leaning over to his sister. 

Ginny shrugged and went on eating. "She has to come down from her new room, remember?"

"What new room?" Ron asked blankly. 

"Head Girl room."

"Jeez. Cushy," Ron said, impressed. "What about Harry?"

"I don't know," Ginny replied impatiently. "Why would I know where Harry is?"

"Well, _I _don't know either. Just thought I'd ask. No need to get so touchy."

"I'm not touchy."

Harry came into the Great Hall at that moment, almost running. He had a huge grin plastered across his face. 

"What gotten into him?" Ron said wonderingly. 

Ginny just shook her head, breaking into a smile. Harry threw himself down into his seat and pushed Ron hard with one shoulder. 

"What?" Ron laughed.

"McGonagall just called me into her office," he said, half-laughing himself. "I'm quidditch captain."

"_Quidditch captain_?" Ron bellowed, and they hugged – before realising what they were doing, and breaking apart. 

"Yeah," Harry said, slightly calmer. "Captain." He hesitated, and his smile faded just a little. "You're not – you know, upset?"

"Upset?" Ron said indignantly. "Why would I be upset?"  
It was true. He wasn't. He'd got to be a prefect when Harry got nothing. And besides, it was a relief just to see him being – normal again.

"Congratulations, Harry," Ginny said softly, and Harry looked quickly at her. 

"Thanks," he said. "You're definitely playing this year, for sure. You're our best Chaser, Gin."

She went a little pink. "Right," she said, "OK," and took another piece of toast from the rack on the table. 

"What about me?" Ron asked. 

"What about you?"

Ron swatted him over the back of his head, and Harry grinned happily.   

Before Ron could say anything else, Hermione came in, Malfoy beside her. They were talking – just normal talking, but it made Ron grit his teeth when he looked at them. 

"How'd she manage that?" Ron said lowly. 

"What?" mumbled Harry, through a mouthful of eggs. 

He didn't elaborate until Hermione reached their table. 

"Morning, everyone," she said, and Ron launched in, unable to stop himself. 

"How'd you manage that?" he said. 

"What?" she asked absently, trying to get to the pancakes. They were just beyond her reach, and Ron grabbed the platter, holding it out for her while he continued. She put a couple on her plate as he spoke.

"How'd you manage to come down to breakfast with Malfoy when you're in different houses?" he demanded.

She put down the pancake server, and he put down the platter. "Why do you have to be so – thingy about everything?" she said angrily. 

"What do you mean 'thingy'?" he protested. "I'm not being 'thingy'."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"It's too early," Gin called, and they ignored her. Harry didn't say anything.

"The reason, _Ron Weasley_, that we came down together, is because our rooms are right next door," she said. 

Then she closed her eyes. He could almost see her thinking it: _I shouldn't have said that._

"Right next door?" he repeated. 

"Yes," she said, picking up her knife and fork resolutely. "Adjacent rooms. Because we're Head Boy and Girl."

Ron was silent for some time, picturing this, picturing slick-haired Malfoy right next door to Hermione. While she did her work. While she changed. While she _showered_, for Merlin's sake. Right next door, hearing all that. His gaze slid over the Slytherin table. Malfoy was eating. _But eating very smugly! _said the fierce voice in his head.

"Well, bloody hell," said Ron, putting down his cutlery. "I can't eat now!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," said Hermione. "Stop being so childish."

"I'm not being childish. I don't trust him. I don't trust him for a second. And right next door? He could – anytime –"

She looked sideways at him, and then back at her plate. "Ron, it's sweet of you to worry," she said quickly, "but you needn't. Alright? I'm fine. Malfoy's fine. He's not so bad, you know."

He opened his mouth to refute this, and she hurried on. 

"And even if he was, it's not like I can't protect myself. Is it?"

"Speaking of protection," said Harry hastily, "first D.A. meeting, this Friday. 'Mione, you want to let everyone know?"

"Sure," she said, clearly eager to steer the conversation away from Malfoy. "I'll do it. I'll make a list."

"Great," Harry said. "A list is great. You think I should start quidditch tomorrow, Ron?"

"Huh?" He'd been eyeing Malfoy again. Now the prat was drinking pumpkin juice. 

"Quidditch." 

"Oh. Right. Sure."

"I really want it to be good this year," he said, sitting back from his breakfast. "It's about time we won the Cup again."

"Here, here," said Gin. 

He smiled at her, a bit shyly. "You want to help me with tryouts?"

"Of course. If you need me."

"I'd like you."

She smiled back at him. "Sure," she said quietly. 

Ron didn't hear much of this. He was looking at Hermione now, and Hermione was plugging away at her breakfast. After several long moments, she glanced at him. 

"Stop it," she snapped. 

"Stop what?"

"Staring at me like that."

"I'm not."

"You _are_. What do you want?"

"Nothing!" he said loudly. "Jesus."

There was an uncomfortable pause in which Ron turned back to his breakfast. He was nearly done anyway. 

"Hey," Harry said suddenly, wonderingly. "Is that …"

He trailed off. Ron looked up, and nearly fell off his chair. It was Lupin, sitting at the staff table, leaning over to speak in Dumbledore's ear. 

"Of course!" Ron said, thoughts of Malfoy momentarily buried. "There was no new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher announced last night. He must have arrived this morning."

"I thought the parents didn't want him to work here after third year?" Hermione worried, putting her knife and fork together. 

"They must be alright, now," Ron said, shrugging. He nudged Harry. "That's good, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Harry said, but he didn't sound very enthusiastic. "I just realised I forgot my wand. I'll see you in Potions."

"Er – OK," agreed Ron, rather bewildered. 

Harry left, running a hand through his hair, and Ron sat back. "What was that?"

"Seeing Lupin reminds him of Sirius," Ginny said simply, before finishing the last of her juice. 

Ron stared at her. "How do you know that?"

Ginny flushed. "Anybody could see it. I'm going to class."

Ron turned to Hermione as she departed. How was it that everyone could understand Harry but him, his best mate? "What about you?" he said, a bit put-out. "Do you have to go to class with Malfoy too?"

"Oh, shut it, Ron," she said, standing. "I don't want to talk about it."

Then she was gone too, and Ron was left with the few remaining students at table, feeling – despite inward reassurances that he'd done nothing wrong – like an insensitive wanker.   
  



	3. Hermione's Room

A/N – Thanks for your reviews, they really move my furniture *grin* … A clarification: I _didn't _actually intend this to be a prequel to Aftermath, because I kinda had different plans for both H/G and R/HG this year, but I guess you never know. Let's just ride this out and see what happens. Thanks again. ~98n6~ Shez … PS – I know, I know. My 'break' didn't last long. Ideas get into my bones and have to come out – plus, my friend Meegs was SO ready for a R/HG fic that I couldn't help myself. Let's hear it for you, Meegs! This is totally dedicated to ya!! Rollin' all the way! *laughs wickedly* XXOO

~

He sat through double Potions (torture … Snape was as vindictive as ever, and took points off Ron for trying to pass a note), and then double Herbology. Actually, it wouldn't have been so bad if Hermione or Harry were themselves, but Harry had sunk into one of his depressions after Lupin's appearance, and Hermione was angry and ignoring him.

Ron hated when she was angry with him – she wasn't like the twins, with snide, sharp comments. If she was really angry, she knew exactly how to irk him. She was just … silent. It was the worst possible thing she could do to him. If she'd snap and be sarcastic, he could handle it. If she'd shout at him, even if she cried, he'd be able to _do _something. But this – this was impossible to fight. 

She knew it too. He knew she knew it. And she knew he knew she knew it. The only way to get around it was to apologise, and he didn't bloody want to. This was _Malfoy _they were talking about. The guy who'd insulted his family and supported the murderer of Harry's parents for five years. And now, paired up with Hermione … well, was it any wonder he couldn't stand him?  

By the end of the day, he couldn't handle it any longer. 

He and Harry were sitting near the fire in the common room after dinner, playing Wizard's Chess, and he was so distracted that he lost his bishop in a ridiculous play. Harry's little pawn smashed it to pieces, and something in Ron's head snapped. He stood up. 

"Right," he said. "Can't take it. I'll have to go and apologise."

"Just because you're losing," Harry said (more himself now).

"_No_," Ron retorted, although that had, in fact, contributed a little. "I hate it when she's like this. It's stupid. And it'll drag for weeks if I don't stop it now."

Harry shook his head. "So stop it. I don't know why you didn't just say sorry this morning."

"Well – you know," Ron said, floundering. "It's the principle of the thing." 

"Right," Harry said dryly. "Go principle your way out of it, then, and get back here so I can finish you off."

Ron looked about, and spotted Ginny at a table by the window. "Oi! Sister!" he shouted, and she turned around. 

"Yes, Prat?"

"Very funny. Come play Harry for me while I go see 'Mione."

Ginny stretched and wandered over. She leant over Harry's shoulder to see the board. 

"What on earth have you been doing?" she asked Ron. "There's no hope." She looked down at Harry, who grinned up at her. "You might even win for once."

"I know," Harry said happily. "It's great."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Fine. Form your little alliances against me. I'm going."

"Off you go, then," said Gin plainly, coming around to take his seat. 

And off he went. 

~

It took him a while to find Hermione's new quarters. Actually, he probably wouldn't have found them at all if he hadn't grabbed Lavender on the way, and asked her. She'd giggled out rough directions, and he'd managed to follow them to the western side of the castle, and up a winding, shifting staircase to a floorboard-ed passageway. 

There were a few tapestries on the walls, a window at its end, and two wooden doors, side by side. The first was slightly ajar, and – to his bemusement – he recognised the smell that was wafting out. It was Hermione's scent. Sort of flowery, not quite sweet. He couldn't define it exactly, but it was Hermione. 

He approached the door and knocked lightly, feeling suddenly intrusive. It was so quiet up here. There was no response from inside, and, not really thinking about it, he pushed the door open. 

Hermione was standing at the foot of her bed, examining an outfit she'd laid out on it. 

That wasn't what he really noticed. 

The thing was, she was wrapped in a towel, and only a towel, and her hair was lying wet against her bare neck, and her pale legs were exposed to the thigh, and it made his heart beat fast to see her like this. He'd never seen her like this. He'd never even allowed himself to _think _of her like this. But God, he couldn't stop looking – his eyes were travelling the length of her legs (when had they gotten so long?), and all he could smell was that flowery scent, and warm water from her shower. 

He was only standing there a few moments before she must have felt something. She turned, and saw him. They stared at each other, and then she was tightening her grip on her towel. 

"Ron! For Merlin's sake! What the hell are you doing?"

Suddenly he could move again, and was spinning about, back into the corridor, flushing bright red. 

"Sorry! Sorry," he called back. "I'm sorry! I just came to apologise – and your door was open – fuck, sorry – I didn't know – I mean – I just came in. Sorry," he finished weakly. He shut the door behind him and put his head in his hands. It opened again, abruptly. Hermione was still in her towel. 

"Don't swear."

He refused to look at her. "Sorry."

"Oh, stop being ridiculous," she said irritably. "It's not like I'm naked."

Don't_ think of Hermione naked_, his inner voice ordered immediately. 

"True," he mumbled. 

"Did you have to barge in like that?"

"Sorry."

"What happened to knocking?"

"I _did _knock," he protested, turning to her automatically, and then, remembering, fixing his eyes on the wall instead. 

"Knock louder next time, then. Hang on, let me get changed."

She ducked back in. He ran a hand through his hair. His heart was still hammering, and he took a few deep breaths. This was weird – he felt weird. 

When he heard her footsteps returning, he stepped away from the door again. She opened it. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. 

"Come in," she said, and padded away. 

He hesitated a few seconds, and then obeyed, letting the door close softly. He looked about the room. It was simple – white walls, white-covered bed – and there were books everywhere. Her school robes were tossed carelessly over the back of her desk-chair. Her bed was almost hidden by stacks of thick, leather-bound volumes. 

"Wow," he said, trying to come back to his usual self. "Did you borrow all these from the library?"

She ducked out of a small side-room – the bathroom, he realised, when he saw the brush in her hand – and shrugged. 

"Most of them. Some are mine."

"I thought it was ten books per student."

"They extended it for me."

"How far?"

"Far enough." She ran the brush through her hair, standing perhaps a metre from him. Maybe it was just his imagination, but she (behind her surface practicality) seemed a bit strange too. "Was there something you wanted?" she asked, after a brief pause. 

"Er – yes," he said, shaking his head a little, as though to clear it. "Yeah. I wanted to – you know, apologise for this morning. I was being an idiot. Sorry."

"That's alright. I'm sorry I was angry today."

That was always how it went – once he apologised, she'd do the same. Girls.

"You know, you _should _give Malfoy a chance, Ron," she went on, shifting into her bossy voice. He hadn't heard that in a while – and, to his surprise, he realised he'd kind of missed it. "He's really not too bad. He's polite."

"Yeah. Well. Polite's not everything," he said, but when she looked at him, he carried on hastily: "I don't know, maybe you're right. It's just … it's a bit hard. To see him in that way. He still doesn't really talk to me."

"I know," Hermione acknowledged. She had an elastic band on her wrist, and used it now to pull her hair into a ponytail. "But it's not like you give him the opportunity, is it?"

"OK, OK," Ron said, trying to wrap this topic up. Again, he didn't want to talk about Malfoy. If he didn't talk about him, maybe he wouldn't think about him. His wandering gaze fell on her dresser. He walked over to it, breaking into a smile – she had a picture in a frame there of the three of them, taken at the beginning of sixth year.

"Jeez," he said softly. "I'd forgotten about this one."

She moved to stand beside him. "I only had it developed this summer. I'd forgotten about it too."

"Hagrid took it, didn't he? Before he left."

"I know."

"You think he's coming back?"

She sighed, and he glanced at her. Her eyes were on the floor. 

"No. I don't think so," she said soberly, and he felt like he should do something – pat her shoulder? Hug her? They weren't 'hugging' friends, exactly. Only on special occasions. And sometimes she kissed his cheek. 

When was the last time she'd done that?

He looked at the photograph again. Hermione was between he and Harry. Ron's hair kept blowing back in the wind, and she was flattening it with one hand, laughing. Harry was smiling, but his eyes were heavy and sad. 

"You've never been in my bedroom before," Hermione said suddenly, and he jumped. 

"What?"

"You've never been in my bedroom before," she repeated. "Because of the charm on the Gryffindor rooms, remember?"

"Yeah. You're right." 

"What do you think?" she said, folding her arms across her chest. 

What did he think? He wasn't exactly sure what she wanted him to say. 

"It's – nice," was what he finally went with. She looked a bit disappointed, and he tried to think of something else. "It's very you," he finished eventually. It was true, too, and she smiled a little. 

"Books and things, you mean?" she said wryly. 

"No. It's just – well, if I had to picture your room, this is what I'd see, I guess," he said, flushing again. 

She nodded, and unexpectedly he remembered her legs – how pale and long and smooth they were – and had to look away. He'd forgotten for a little while, about those moments when he came in, but now that he'd remembered, it was all he could see. 

There was a sudden, sharp rapping on the door, and Ron started violently. Hermione smiled in a surprised kind of way. 

"Jumpy, aren't we?" she said, and went to open it.  

"Yeah, well," he protested, glad to be on familiar ground again – sparring. "It's not every day you're standing in a girl's room for the first … time …"

He stopped. Malfoy was standing in the hall, wearing jeans and a green Slytherin jersey rolled up onto his forearms. 

"Hi," he said. 

"Hello," she returned. "I'm just coming now." She glanced meaningfully at Ron, and Malfoy looked beyond Hermione and saw him. His eyebrows went up, just a little.

"Weasley," he said, rather stiffly. 

Ron couldn't say anything. He nodded once – jerked his head, more like – and then there was a long, uncomfortable silence. 

"Malfoy and I have to do night patrol," Hermione said eventually. 

"Right," managed Ron. He paused, and then spoke rather gruffly. "What, every night?"

"Yeah. It'll be a bit of a pain, but I suppose we'll get used to it," she went on, laughing (rather awkwardly) in Malfoy's direction. He smiled slightly. Ron wanted to hit him, and could feel his hand shaking. He clenched and unclenched it a few times. 

"We'd best be off," Malfoy said then.

"I was just leaving," Ron said, and found himself sweeping past them into the corridor. "See you in the morning, 'Mione. Malfoy." 

The last he managed through gritted teeth. He hoped Hermione appreciated the bloody effort. When he looked back at her from the stairs, she waved at him, and then went inside her room again – to get her wand, he supposed. Malfoy followed. 

He didn't like that Malfoy followed. He didn't like that they were patrolling together. And he wished he could just get a grip, and not care so much.

He couldn't help it. He _did_ care. 

He went down the stairs feeling angry and helpless, and with an odd, tugging sense of loss too. Like she was moving away from him. 

Him and Harry, that was. Moving away from him and Harry, and maybe not coming back. 


	4. At Quidditch

"Hey, look Harry," Ron said, pointing at the quidditch stands. 

Harry turned his head obediently. 

"What? Hermione?"

"No," Ron said impatiently, although his stomach gave a sudden lurch. She was there too, for 'moral support' in her words, her nose buried in a book. He aimed his finger at the person a few rows above her. "Look. Lupin."

Harry didn't say anything. Ron glanced at him, and his face was impassive, although he gripped his broom rather tightly. 

"Oh," he said eventually. "Well, come on."  
He strode out onto the pitch. Ron went on looking at the Defence professor, who saw him and waved. He waved back briefly, and then followed Harry. 

It had been weird having Lupin back as a teacher – it seemed a very long time since third year, and he'd forgotten how good it was to have someone decent. In sixth year they'd been sent an idiot from the Transylvanian region, who'd thoughthe was a vampire. So had Harry, Hermione and Ron for a little while – but Dumbledore soon discovered that he was only a bit crazy, and sent him away. 

So Lupin was a refreshing change. Practical defence work, tempered with excellent teaching. It was more than refreshing – it was marvellous. Ron even felt something of his old enthusiasm returning. 

Harry was a slightly different story. Although he professed to be glad to see Lupin, he would never meet the teacher's eye, and rarely spoke up in class (while still performing all set tasks perfectly). Ron thought Ginny might have been on the money with her 'reminds him of Sirius' comment. The only time he'd noticed Harry talk alone to Lupin was after their first lesson. Ron had waited for him in the hall, and when he'd come out, his eyes were red and shiny. 

Ron, being Ron, said nothing, and they'd gone to lunch.

They hadn't seen so much of Hermione this week either – although, when he thought about it, if you added up all the time she spent in the library the previous year, she was probably at the same level of absence. It wasn't the _time_ that bothered him so much. Just the person she spent it with. Not even all of it – not nearly. He knew Malfoy only shared bits of her time, and he knew it was silly, and still it bothered him. 

"Right," Harry said. The Gryffindor team was standing in a circle in the centre of the field – Harry as Seeker and Captain, Ron as Keeper, Ginny, Parvarti and a new third-year, Alice Overly, as Chasers. The Creevey brothers – who had been forced to hone their quidditch skills by over-enthusiastic parents, and even beefed up a little – were approaching at a jog, ready to take on their Beater positions. 

"Right," Harry said again, when they'd arrived. He looked rather nervous, but was clearly maintaining a brave face. Ron nodded, for no particular reason beyond reassurance. "OK," Harry said. "So we're all here?"

"We're all here, Harry," said Ginny. 

He looked at her quickly, and then nodded himself. "Good. Well, we didn't take the Cup last year, and we didn't take it the year before. And I've had enough of it. This year, it's ours. Right?"

"Right," everyone agreed. 

"Which means," went on Harry, gaining confidence, "that we're going to have to pull together as a team, and do some real work. We're going to work out our plays beforehand, we're going to learn them, we're going to train as hard as is humanly possible. And we're going to win."

_Damn_, Ron thought with dismay. _Oliver's returned in Harry's body._

"Are we clear on that?" Harry said, looking into each of his team member's faces. "We're going to win this thing."

"You got it Harry," said Colin. 

Ginny leant against her broom. 

"We'll do our very best," she said. 

Harry smiled at them all, a bit hesitantly, and then nodded once more. 

"Good," he said. "Let's take these brooms up."  
They flew alright – not great, but alright, and Ron could see it bothered Harry. He, Ron and Ginny were holding up the team. Parvati was a decent flyer, but not quick enough with the ball. The new girl was still too shy to put herself out there, and the Creeveys were so excited to be captained by Harry that they were sending the Bludgers every which way. Ron could feel his own spirits sinking. This was going to be harder than he'd imagined. 

"OK," Harry said eventually, after an hour and a half. He was sweaty and breathless, but his eyes were determined. "Next practice is tomorrow morning at six, before breakfast. It's Saturday, so no excuses about class. We've got – we've got a lot to do."

"Sure, Harry!" piped up Dennis, thwacking away the last bludger. "We'll be there."

"With bells on," added Colin. 

They might have continued, but there was a sudden, exhaled _oof_ to Ron's left. He spun around, just in time to see Ginny tumbling from her broom, her hair whipping about her face. She'd been hit with the Creevey's ball, and his heart went straight to his mouth as he watched her. He was utterly frozen. 

Harry wasn't. He'd plunged already, and pretty soon the rest were after him, yelling and dropping. Ron forced his nerves into action and followed. He saw his sister hit the ground, and Harry step off his broom when it was still a metre above earth, stumbling forwards. He dropped to his knees beside her. 

Ron touched down and ran over. His feet were moving so slowly. He thought he was shouting something ('Is she alright? Is she alright?'), but couldn't actually hear himself. He stopped behind Harry, who was holding her wrist, his face very pale. 

"Pulse?" Ron managed, while everyone else lined up around them. 

Harry's features relaxed, and he nodded. He dropped her arm and pushed the hair out of her face. There was blood on her forehead, and both he and Ron started.

"Talk to her," he said to Ron, after a stunned pause. His voice was hoarse. "Someone she'll recognise. See if you can wake her up. Parvati, get Pomfrey."

"Er – Ginny, can you hear me?" Ron said, even as Parvati scampered off. "It's Ron."

Silence. She didn't move. She was breathing, but she wasn't moving. 

"It's your brother Ron," he repeated. "Ginny, open your eyes."

No response.

And then Harry was cutting in. 

"Wake up," he said lowly, urgently. "Wake up, Ginny."

To Ron's shock, she made a throaty noise, and her eyes flickered open. 

"Harry," she said. 

"Yes," he replied unsteadily. "You fell off your broom."

"I was knocked off," she corrected him croakily, and he smiled a little. 

"Yeah, you were knocked off. Do you feel alright?"

"Yes. My head hurts."

"Don't sit up," Ron interjected hastily, coming closer. His shock had been replaced with a mighty relief. "It's bad to sit up right away, isn't it?"

Harry didn't look at Ron. "We'll wait for Madame Pomfrey," he explained quietly to Ginny, brushing hair out of her face again, getting blood on his hands. "You'll be right."

"Jesus, Gin," Ron breathed, dropping to his knees with Harry. He put a hand on his heart. It was fluttering crazily. 

"What's happening? What's happening?" Hermione was shrieking. 

He spun around. There she was, her and the professor. They'd clearly run all the way from the stands. Hermione's face was already tear-streaked, and Lupin's was grim in anticipation of the worst. 

"Is she conscious?" he asked, directing the question at Harry, even as Hermione stepped up behind Ron. She put her hand on his shoulders and leant over him to see Ginny, and his heart went faster still. 

"Yeah," Harry said, still looking down at her. 

"I'm fine," said Ginny. She even managed to sound annoyed. "I'm alright. Can I get up?"

"No," Lupin said immediately, his relief clear. "Stay there." He turned to the team. "What happened?"

Dennis Creevey raised a slow, trembling hand. His face was bright crimson. The others stared at their feet, even Colin, and offered him no help. 

"What _did _happen?" Hermione said, bending to speak in Ron's ear as Lupin approached the younger Creevey.

"Bludger hit her," Ron said. "She fell."

"I only saw her drop. It was terrible. I thought Harry might reach her before she hit for a second, but he didn't. Then we just ran."

"It's not Harry's fault. I should have been there."

"Don't be silly. No-one could have got there in time. Not even Harry, and he's got his _Ascendant_ and all. Merlin, she's lucky."

"Yeah," agreed Ron, his heart-rate settling just a little. "Bloody lucky."

"What's going on?" said a cool voice, just outside their little circle. He looked up. Malfoy, broom in hand and dressed in quidditch practice robes, was standing there with his eyebrows raised. His gaze travelled down to Ginny, and he looked taken-aback. 

"Is she alright?" he asked. 

"Fine," Ron said shortly. 

"She fell," explained Hermione. "What are you doing here?"

"The Gryffindors are meant to be off the pitch now," he said, shrugging, "and I was flying anyway, so I thought I'd get in a bit of quidditch. But I guess I won't be able to anymore."

_What, do you want us to move? _Ron thought fiercely. _Want us to get out of your way?_

"I'll go down to the change-rooms. Hope your sister's all right," he said in Ron's direction, and then strode away. 

"Did you see that?" Ron hissed at Harry. 

Harry looked up. "See what?"

Hermione's hand tightened on his shoulder, and he shrugged her off. Before he could say anymore, Lupin was speaking. He was firmly gripping the Dennis' arm. 

"I'm taking this one upstairs," he said. "And here's Madame Pomfrey now."

They all turned – she was running down the slope at break-neck speed, her medical kit swinging in hand. 

"Get to the change rooms, then," Lupin said. "You can stay, Ron, but only until Madame Pomfrey has ascertained Ginny's condition. Then you should change, too, and get into the castle. It's practically dark. We'll talk to you all about this later." 

The others began to move away. 

"Harry," Lupin said gently, and, very reluctantly, Harry stood. 

"I'll stay with you, Ron," Hermione suggested, and Ron wanted to say: _Yes, please stay with me, what if it's bad news, what do I do if it's bad news_, but Lupin shook his head. 

"Thank you, Hermione, but no. Poppy will work best with few people about."

"Alright," she agreed, and then squeezed Ron's arm briefly. "She'll be fine," Hermione said, and then walked slowly off the pitch. Harry went with her (blatantly ignoring the change rooms order).

Ron wished they'd come back. 

~

Ginny was fine, thank Merlin. She'd bruised her tailbone and legs, badly sprained her ankle, had a cut on her head, and had narrowly missed a broken back or neck. If Ron thought he'd been relieved before, that was nothing compared to what he felt once Pomfrey had given the all clear. He couldn't imagine what he'd have done if things hadn't turned out so well – and was very grateful to the clear-headed Lupin, who handled it all so reassuringly. 

"Go take a shower, change clothes and have your dinner," he said decisively. "Your sister will go right to the hospital wing, and you can see her there tonight."

"Yes, go," said Ginny. "You smell awful."

Lupin went off with Dennis, Ginny and Pomfrey, and Ron went to the change rooms. The rest of the team had long since departed, apart from one person, who was still in the shower. Ron took a vacant one, washed quickly and in extremely hot water, and then ducked out again, wrapped in a towel. 

He nearly shouted when he saw that it was _Malfoy _who'd been in the other shower. The Slytherin was changed now, and drying his hair. 

"Weasley," he said, looking up. 

Ron clenched his fists. A drop of water slid down his back.

He'd had enough. 

He had to say something.

"Malfoy," he said gratingly, "I want to talk to you."

Malfoy didn't stop drying off. "What about?"

"About Hermione."

Now he stopped. He eyed Ron, who refused to be intimidated, and stared right back. "What about her?" Malfoy said, after a while.

_Right, _Ron thought, _what about her exactly?_

He didn't know. 

"I – I just want you to – not – be a dickhead when it comes to her."

"OK," Malfoy said dryly, "not be a dickhead. Thank you, Weasley, for that pearl of wisdom."

"You know what I mean," Ron said angrily, and Malfoy raised his hands. 

"No," he said, "I don't. Now if you'll excuse me …"  
He made to leave, and Ron stepped in front of him, determined to get this out. 

"You _do _know what I mean," he repeated. "Don't hurt her, Malfoy."

"Are you threatening me, Weasley?" he said quietly. 

_Am I? _he thought. "No," he managed finally. "Just making a suggestion."

"Suggest somewhere else," Malfoy snapped, pushing him away (if lightly). "She's not your girlfriend, is she?"

"She's my best friend. And I trust you about as far as I could sling a piano."

"She can look after herself. And I'm not doing anything. So _fuck off_, Weasley, and leave me alone."

"Hey," Ron said loudly.

"Hey what?" Malfoy interrupted. "_She's_ forgiven me, hasn't she? Why can't you?"

This took him aback. They stood in silence for a few moments before Ron found voice again. 

"I don't see why she's forgiven you at all," he said stiffly. "You were horrible to her."

Malfoy's eyes were unreadable. "I apologised. And I'm not horrible anymore. The proof of actions, Weasley."

Ron said nothing, didn't move, and Malfoy made an impatient, sighing sound. 

"I'm on your side," he said. "I'm on it. And I try to be polite to you, but you only get what you give, and I can't help it if you're too small-minded to move on." He paused, and then said pointedly: "This isn't even about me. It's about you being a jealous prick. Well, I don't want her like that, so rest easy."

Ron wished he could say something more. He never knew how to deal with Malfoy's – smart-arse-ness. He just went on looking at him, feeling like a wank, wishing he were better at these verbal games. 

"Now," Malfoy said, eyes glinting, "get out of my way."

And, hating it, hating himself, he stepped sideways to let Malfoy pass. 

Hermione would have been proud of his restraint. 

_He_ wasn't. If he could work up the courage, he'd hit himself in the face for letting Malfoy walk over him. 

Even so, he was glad they'd 'talked'. He felt a little easier about it all. Still uncertain of Malfoy's motives – but then again, who was ever going to understand that guy? And at least he'd done something instead of just lying in bed worrying about it.

~

A/N: I know, I know, _another _broom scene with Harry and Ginny. What can I say? I like 'em (and I know, I am blatant in the sexual tension between H/G. It's all fun.) … Getting the idea that while Malfoy may have switched sides, there's still some of the old arrogance tucked in there? Good. More R/HG fluff ahead. ~nm3x5s~


	5. An Offer

*A/N: Sorry it's taken me this long! It's been a wild weekend, and we're moving house too, so all is frantic here. My computer's on the floor (desk already packed), and I am typing in the most awkward positions imaginable … And, ahem –  *blushes furiously* Good spotting zealousgirl, thank you very much. Yes, they _did _win quidditch in fifth year (what can I say, my HP books are packed too!), and Harry's dialogue will be changed accordingly. On with the show. ~nm3x5s~ Shez

~

Ron went up to visit Ginny after dinner, and found Hermione already by her bed. 

"Didn't you eat?" Ron asked guiltily. 

"No. I didn't want Ginny to be all by herself."

"All on my one-sie," Ginny mumbled. Ron raised his eyebrows, and Hermione shrugged helplessly. 

"Painkillers," she said, in a low voice. "Her ankle's bad apparently. Madame Pomfrey thinks it'll be right in the morning, but for now – I suppose she's a little out of it."

"Right," said Ron. He took a seat opposite Hermione, on the other side of the bed. He felt awkward, reached for Ginny's hand, decided against it, and settled uncomfortably in his chair. He looked up. Hermione was looking at him. Her eyes flicked away when he met them, and then Harry walked in. 

"Bloody hell," he said, throwing himself into the last chair in the room, near the foot of Gin's bed. He ran two hands through his hair.

"Bloody hell what?" Ron asked warily. 

"Bloody hell, McGonagall nearly threatened to shut down the team, that's what," Harry said sharply. "Said I had to be more careful."

"It wasn't _your _fault," Hermione protested, but Harry cut her off. 

"I know it wasn't," he snapped, "but a captain has to take responsibility. She said it was negligence."

"Negligence?" Ginny said weakly. Harry stood and came a bit closer. 

"Hey," he said, his voice gentling, "are you alright?"

"She's a little tired," Hermione began, but Ginny spoke over her. 

"It wasn't your fault," she said, "and I'll go tell her that if you need me to."

_Funny_, Ron thought, _she seems rather more together now._

"No, no," Harry said firmly. "Don't be stupid. It's all sorted. And the Creeveys," he added darkly, "are both off the team."

"Oh Harry," Hermione worried, "do you think you ought to?"

"Ginny could have died!" he retorted forcefully. "They're idiots. I don't know why I even put them in."

"There was nobody better," Ron pointed out. 

"Yeah. I know. Still, I feel – a bit to blame. Sorry Gin." And he patted her hand, a little clumsily. 

Quite unexpectedly, she turned her palm so that it lay against his. 

"It wasn't your fault," she repeated. 

Harry stared at her for a long moment, and then took his hand away. Ron and Hermione met one another's gazes over the bed, Hermione biting her lip. The tension in the room was palpable. 

"I'm going to sleep," Ginny said eventually, sounding quite woozy again. 

There was a flurry of activity around the bed as Hermione leaned over to tuck her covers in more carefully, and Ron pushed his chair back with loud farewells, and Harry moved to the door. They said goodnight, and quickly departed

"Well," Hermione said, in the corridor outside the sickroom. "What was that?"

"What was what?" said Harry shortly. 

"That," said Ron. "In there."

He didn't feel angry about it. He didn't even feel concerned. He felt – well, weirded out, really. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry muttered. "I have to go finish my Potions essay."

"What, now?" Ron objected, and was rewarded with a dig in the ribs from Hermione. 

"Yeah," Harry said. "Night."

"Night."

He strode off, and Hermione slapped Ron on the arm. 

"Ow! What?"

"Don't go pushing for answers. You know what Harry's like."

"Apparently not," he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "Apparently I'm the only one who _doesn't_ know what Harry's thinking at any given moment. Besides, you asked him first."

"I asked to see what he was going to do. He closed down, and I backed off. It's not hard, Ron."

He didn't reply, and they began to walk again, his mind already wandering back to his little sister in the hospital. 

"What do you think of it, then?" he said eventually. 

"Of Ginny – and Harry?"

"Yeah."

She paused, and then smiled a small smile. "I don't know. I think – it's kind of cute."

"Cute?"

"It's sweet. The hand thing – that was sweet."

"I thought it was weird."

"You would."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," she laughed. "I'm just teasing. Anyway, I think it's been coming on for a while. And Ginny's always sort of loved him, hasn't she?"

Ron started. "You think she loves him?"

"Oh _I _don't know," Hermione sighed. "You never can tell with Ginny. Or Harry, for that matter." Quite unconsciously, she leant against him as they walked. "Merlin, I'm tired."

His throat sort of dried out. 

"Mm," was all he managed. He became suddenly aware of how close she was, how warm and sleepy, and it made him feel light-headed. They went on in a comfortable silence – at least, she was comfortable. He was desperately searching for things to say and not having much luck.

"Er – d'you want me to walk you to your room?" he asked, as they reached the corridor where they would have to part ways. 

"No," she said, moving away from him. He felt that sensation of loss again, of wanting her back beside him.

"Have to get ready for patrol anyway," she continued, making a face, and his stomach curled over itself unpleasantly. Why did she have to say that?

"Right," he said, looking at his feet. "Good luck with that."

"Good luck?" she repeated, puzzled. 

"Er – night, then."

He raised a hand goodbye, and then hurried away in the direction of the common room, blushing outwardly, cursing inwardly. Why was it that whenever she came close like that, he turned into a complete and utter prat?

~

"Right," Ron said, throwing down his quill. "I'm hopeless. I can't do it."

"Yes you can," Harry said patiently, not taking his eyes off his work. They were sitting in the common room that Sunday night, attempting to catch up on a week's homework. Ron had barely got through his Divination, and was at a total roadblock with Potions. 

"I'm an idiot," Ron said miserably. "I don't know why I bother."

"'Cos your mum would kill you if you didn't," Harry replied promptly.

"I could go work in the joke shop with the twins."

"Yeah. Or you could go strangle yourself. You'll get the same result, either way."

"Bloody Mum." He stretched his fingers, picked up his quill again, and stared at the paper, with all the force he could. 

_Come on,_ urged his brain. _Write something.  _

He groaned and dropped the quill once more. Definitely hopeless. 

Hermione chose that moment to come in through the portrait hole, bearing a heavy load of books and a contented expression. 

"What's got you so smug?" Ron called loudly. She saw them and came over. 

"Nothing."

"What have you been doing?"

"Patrol," she replied, after a momentary pause. "And then I ducked into the library – and look what I found!"

She managed somehow to display the book on the top of her pile: _Hogwarts, A History – The New Edition. _

"New edition?" Ron asked incredulously, managing not to think about her walk through the castle with Malfoy. Harry had stopped work too now, and taken the book from her. 

"Isn't it great?" Hermione said, so happily that he had to smile. "With new pictures and things, and inclusions of what's happened these past years."

"You'll be in there a few times, then," Ron commented, nudging Harry, who frowned in an embarrassed way. 

"He is," Hermione agreed, and then, when Harry looked at her, went on hastily: "But only a few. And Umbridge is as well, with her reign of terror."

This pleased Ron immensely. "They called it that?" 

"They did. What are you up to?"

She put down her pile with a loud exhale, and sat in the empty chair. 

"What am I _not _doing, more like," said Ron glumly, rolling his quill between his fingers. "I can't dothis."

"Why, what is it?"

"Potions. But everything. It's too much, too quick. And everyone's talking about N.E.W.T.s as though I'll barely be able to pick up garbage after school without them."

"If you'd quit complaining," Harry said, eyes on his work, "then maybe you'd get something done."

"I'm not complaining." 

"Right."

"You're the one who was quoting quidditch scores at me."

"But I'm working now, aren't I?" 

Hermione had been looking from one to the other, and cut in at this point. 

"It's no wonder you don't get your work done," she said sagely. "You just distract each other."

Ron glanced at Harry, who was glancing at him. They grinned simultaneously. 

"Nah," Ron said. "That's not it."

"I think it is," Hermione insisted, quite serious now. "And Ron, you know it's important, the work this year."

"It's first weekend back, 'Mione!"

"And how many more are there to go?" she retorted. "Harry's alright – Harry does well in most things anyway. But you have to work at it. Don't look at me like that, it's true."

He tried to stop glowering, but couldn't really help himself. It was true, and that stung more than the comment itself – Harry had natural talent, he had hard work and luck. 

"Well," Hermione went on, a little more gently, "maybe I should help you."

"You help me anyway," Ron muttered, and she tapped his hand with her fingertips. His skin tingled briefly. 

"Don't be cross."

He looked up. He couldn't be cross with her, not really, and she knew it. 

"I'll help you," she said. She floundered for a suitable promise, and then her eyes lit up. "I'll tutor you."

"Tutor me?"

"Yeah," Hermione continued, clearly warming up to the idea. "I'll tutor you in whatever lessons you're having trouble with, when I'm not working myself. That way I'll be there if you need help, but I'll be able to – you know, supervise."

"Supervise?" he repeated, still unsure about what all this meant. "And Harry?"

"I'm fine," Harry said quickly, scratching away at his paper. "No offence, 'Mione, but I don't think I'd much like being tutored."

"Oh, don't worry," Hermione agreed breezily. "I wasn't thinking of you. Ron won't be distracted if it's only me around."

A sudden bright memory of her long, bare legs spun into his mind, and he shook it away uneasily. 

"Are you serious?"

"Of course."

"Er – alright," he said, after a silence. "If you're sure you have time?"

"There's time. I'm not having any trouble with lessons."

"You don't have a lot on your plate – with Head Girl duties and all?"

He knew it was a loaded question, and was weirdly satisfied when she flushed and said uncomfortably: "It's fine. There's not too much so far."

Ron thought he might be happy because she _didn't_ sound so happy (about what, exactly? Talking about the Head Girl position?) and that made him feel terrible. He shifted in his seat.

"Right."

"OK," she said eventually, standing with her books. "I was just coming to say goodnight."

"Night," said Harry, still writing furiously. 

"Night 'Mione," said Ron, not quite meeting her eye. "Thanks for the offer."

"We'll start soon," she replied, trying to balance her pile. He stole a glance at her – she was tipping slightly to the left, then to the right, and her face was a picture of concentration. It was so … endearing, that he smiled again and she looked at him. 

"What?"

"Nothing. You want help?"

"I'm fine. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

She departed, and Harry put down his pen. 

"Well," he said. 

"Well what?"

"Tutoring, hey?"

"I need it," Ron said defensively. 

"Nice of Hermione to offer."

"Yeah. It was."

"You'd think all her time would be taken up with Draco."

Ron shot a hard look at him, and Harry grinned. "Sorry. Had to. You're a easy target."

"Oh, really?" Ron said challengingly. "Why's that?"

Harry sighed, stood, and began to pick up his things. Ron waited for an answer, and when he didn't get one, repeated his question. 

"Merlin, Ron," Harry said, almost impatiently. "Why don't you just ask the girl out?"

Ron was struck dumb. He stared at Harry, who was still gathering his texts and stationery, and only moved when his friend started towards the dorms. 

"Hey," he said, running after him. "What the hell is that?"

"What's what?" asked Harry, walking upstairs. 

"What you said," Ron insisted, following. His pulse was throbbing loudly, and he was sure if he looked in a mirror his face would be red. 

Harry stopped on the stairs and turned to face him. Neither of them said anything for a moment, and then Harry turned back and went on. 

"Forget it," he said. "I was kidding."

He went up into the dorm, and Ron stayed where he was for a minute. He didn't know what to think about Harry – but the thought of being tutored by Hermione left him with the strangest feeling of anticipation and apprehension, all mixed up.   


	6. Tutorial

A/N – Everyone's so apprehensive about Malfoy. I love it. *grins wickedly* It's excellent to hear all your thoughts, thank you so much for reviewing. Please continue in your excellence, hehe … ~let's hear it~ Shez

~

Things were so busy at Hogwarts that it was two weeks before the tutoring concept came up again. Harry was training his team so hard that most nights Ron fell into bed with aching muscles, slept like a log, and occasionally dreamt of quidditch. Snape was setting them essay after essay, and even Lupin was urging them to, in his words, 'apply themselves' – they were learning about underwater defence, and Harry (after his second task in fourth year) already had a significant advantage over them.

D.A. meetings were still up and running, numbers slightly swollen with new arrivals. Harry had to handle about thirty recruits and, with Ron and Hermione's help, was trying to work on some more difficult jinxes. The room of requirement provided cool drinks (and sometimes, when Ron was feeling particularly frustrated, soothing music), but the hours they spent there were still among the most stressful of his week. Ron didn't think he was cut out to be a teacher – he didn't know what he _was_ cut out for, but he was fairly sure education wasn't it. 

Anyway, he'd been so wrapped up in all of this activity that he was relatively surprised when Hermione tapped him on the shoulder at breakfast on Monday morning, saying: "Free tonight?"

"Er –" he said wildly, mouth full of bacon, wondering what in Merlin's name she was talking about (and hoping it was nothing important). 

"You know, for tutoring," she said impatiently, tucking a loose bit of hair behind her ear. "Remember?"

He looked at her blankly, and then _did _remember. 

"Oh, right!" he said. 

She gave him a look. "You forgot?"

"Course not," he protested. He hadn't really – it had just slipped round to the back of his mind.

Now it was directly front and centre. 

"Don't you have patrol or something?" he went on.

Hermione started on her toast. "Draco said he'd do it alone."

Brief silence as Ron digested this (the fact that she'd organised time to be with him – he didn't think that had ever happened before). Then something clicked.

"What did you call him?"

"Draco," she repeated, flushing – but she didn't sound contrite. "He's a human being. How would you like it if I called you Weasley?"

"Malfoy calls me Weasley," he pointed out. 

"But you're boys. Boys call each other by their last names. It's affectionate."

He looked at her incredulously. "Affectionate? Me and Malfoy?"

"Alright," she said, half-smiling, half-frowning, and quickly changing the subject. "Where's Harry?"

"He said something about working on his game plans. You know what he's like these days – always hard at it."

They ate quietly for a little while longer, Ron avoiding even a glance at the Slytherin table and its famous 'Draco', and then Hermione spoke again. 

"So you're up for it then?"

"Tutoring?"

"No," she said, rolling her eyes. "A trip to Hogsmeade."

"Lay off. Yeah, I'm up for it."  
She stood, a half-eaten bit of toast in one hand. "Right," she said, pushing her hair back again, and getting crumbs in it. "McGonagall gave me permission to use the transfiguration classroom, so I'll see you there, 7 o'clock."

"Not the library?" 

"We're doing practical work," she said, already walking away. "I'm going to Runes. Bye."

"Bye," he called, taken aback. Hemione, not wanting to learn from books? Only in D.A. meetings, or a world gone mad.

Ginny threw herself down beside him, into Hermione's just-vacated seat. 

"Morning," she said breathlessly. "God, those stairs are a nightmare."

"Foot still sore?"

"Just a twinge at times – _like_ when I'm going downstairs. Pomfrey said it would sting for a while." She grabbed a couple of pancakes, and slapped them onto her plate. "What's wrong with you, anyway?"

"What?"

"You just look weird."

"I don't know. Nothing. Just thinking about – you know, how busy I am."

She nodded, and glanced about casually. "Where's Harry?"

"Doing quidditch stuff."

"Right."

Ron looked sidelong at her. Her eyes were fixed on her plate, and she seemed perfectly normal. Maybe she didn't like Harry at all, and he and Hermione were just reading more into the situation than they should. 

Then again, as Hermione would have pointed out, he was a boy, and not very good at this intuitive stuff. 

He pictured Harry and his sister together. The thought was a little odd – but actually kind of nice. Yeah. Nice. It'd be nice for Harry to have someone – someone decent like Ginny, anyway. He was pretty sure, if they did end up together, he'd be able to handle it. 

And, unable to suppress the urge, he pictured himself and Hermione together. 

"Oi," Ginny said, startling him. 

"What? What do you want?"

"Nothing," she said, frowning. "I just asked you to pass the butter. Three times. What _is_ wrong with you?"

He passed it, and wolfed down the rest of his food, concentrating fiercely. If he thought any more, he'd go crazy.

~

Ron went to the classroom after dinner. It had been a long, boring day, followed by an intense round of quidditch, in which Harry had shouted himself hoarse. Ginny ended up storming off the pitch, Harry had followed, and the rest of them immediately took the opportunity to abandon practice and escape back to the school. 

So he wasn't exactly in the mood to be tutored. He felt tired and sore and still a bit hungry. In fact, he was considering how he might frame his apology and run for bed as he opened the door. 

Hermione was standing with her back to him, nudging at a pile of heavy, red cushions with one foot. She turned when she heard him enter, and her face brightened. 

"Hi," she said. 

He abandoned all thought of leaving. She'd gone to so much trouble. And she was happy to see him. 

"Hey," he said, coming all the way in. "You have cushions."

"They're from the common room," she said, and he suddenly recognised them. 

"Right." He paused. "What are we going to do with them?"

"Not what you're thinking," she said archly. 

He frowned at her, and then twigged. "I wasn't!" he protested.  

She laughed a little, and kicked a cushion corner into place. "I know. It's OK. They're for the jinxes we're going to practice."

"What jinxes?" he asked suspiciously, putting his quidditch bag on a desk (he'd taken it with him, straight from practice to dinner). He surveyed her from where he stood, and she looked innocently at him. 

"Just a couple," she said. "For defence."

"Defence? Don't we get enough defence?"

"You can never have enough these days."

"And I'm alright at defence, too."

"I thought we'd start with something you might actually enjoy," she said dryly. "If you're confident in this, then you might feel better when we do, say, Potions."

Potions. Great. 

"Where'd you find the jinxes?" he asked.

"Book."

"Of course," he muttered, and she looked sharply at him. 

"What?"

"Nothing. I said 'of course'."

"I don't only know things from books," she said after a moment, a little stiffly. "Do you want me to tutor you or not?"

"I do," he said hastily. "I'm sorry. I'm just – worn out. Sorry. Look, I'm paying attention."

He sat on the nearest chair, pulling his wand out of his back pocket. Her stern expression faded somewhat. 

"No," she said. She came forward and took hold of his arm, pulling him up. He allowed himself to be led over to the pile of cushions, so that his back was to them. Hermione faced him, and absently dusted something from his shoulder. "This is one to make your opponent fall."

"What's it called?"

She raised her eyebrows at him. "The Falling Jinx."

"Ah," he said, feeling ridiculous. "And you're going to do it to me?"  
She smiled a bit. "Just so you can see how it feels before you give it a go. I want to try it, anyway."

"Sure," he said dryly, steeling himself. "Well, fire away."

Hermione directed her wand at him, and spoke steadily: "_Accido._"

Ron's legs seemed to lose all feeling, and his balance upside-down-ed itself. He crumpled and fell, most of his body landing on the cushions. Hermione dropped on her knees beside him. 

"Ron!" she said wildly. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," he choked, sitting upright. His head spun, and he lay back down again. "Ow."

"Sorry." She bit her lip. "It worked, though."

"It definitely worked."

She helped him up, and rubbed his arm. "Come on," she said briskly. "You're fine. Don't be a baby."

He straightened immediately. "I'm not a baby. Let's see how you feel."

"Ah – we should practice the wand movements and everything first," she said quickly.     

She was probably right, so he practiced the movements, trying to copy her. It was harder than he'd imagined. She was more graceful than him, for a start. He flicked, she floated. There was no way he could imitate that. He went on trying for quite some time, but eventually had to give up.

"I can't do it like you," he said. 

"That doesn't matter. You don't have to do it like me, you have to do it like you. You want to try the real thing?"

"What, on you?" he asked nervously, and she laughed. 

"Of course. Who else?"

"I don't know. I don't want to hurt you."  
She moved to stand with her back to the cushion pile, her smile fading into a certain seriousness. "Ron," she said firmly, "I trust you."

He looked at his feet. It was a strange thing to hear someone say that, and he felt the unfamiliar weight of responsibility settle onto his shoulders. 

She trusted him. He had to do it properly. That was all that mattered. 

"OK," he said, breathing out, and aiming his wand at her. She closed her eyes. 

_Graceful float, _he thought fiercely, and then, with a wave, pronounced a clear: "_Accido_!"

She fell backwards onto her pillows, and he stepped forward uncertainly. 

"'Mione?"

She moved – thank God she moved – and then forced herself into a sitting position. 

"That does hurt," she grimaced. "Sorry."

"Well – at leat it works," he pointed out again. She smiled, and winced. 

"You're right," she agreed. "And you did it. I knew you would if you put your mind to it. Help me up?"

Hermione held out a hand, and he took hold of it to pull her upwards. She was light, and her hands were much smaller than his, her fingers more slender. He'd never noticed that before. When she was standing, he found himself holding their still-joined hands up to look at them. 

"Jeez," he said wonderingly. "You're tiny."

"No," she said. "You're just bigger than me."

He looked down at her, and she was looking up at him. He _was_ bigger. Again, not something he'd really noticed. Hermione was Hermione, and those girly things about her – her small size, her legs, the gentle swing of her wand – had always slipped by him before. 

"I guess I am," he agreed softly. 

She frowned, just slightly, and it made a little furrow between her brows. They were still holding hands, and he didn't know why, or how he was going to stop. 

But then a bell rang in his head – the bell that said _what are you doing, don't embarrass yourself_ – and he quickly disentangled their fingers. Her arm dropped back to her side, and he moved away a few steps. 

"Got anything else?" he asked, clearing his throat. "Any more spells?"

There was a brief silence. He looked at her from the corner of his eye – she was running a hand along her ponytail, like she always did when she was thinking.

"We've only really got decent time for one more tonight," she said. "If you want to. I thought it would be good for the underwater stuff we're doing."

Ron still couldn't look at her properly. He felt too tense. He hated feeling like this around her. He didn't understand it – he didn't understand himself. 

"What is it?" he said, and she busied herself with a nearby book, reading from the description. 

"A spell for the loss of breath, _Examino_ will cause an opponent – even one operating an underwater air charm – to lose oxygen until they fall unconscious, or the counter-spell is performed. It can also be useful in acclimatising a person to underwater conditions, in which oxygen is not readily available."

"Sounds a bit dangerous," he said apprehensively. 

"But useful." 

Ron looked at her now, and couldn't fathom her expression. 

"I want to," she said firmly. "We've got the counter-spell here.  

"Hermione …"

"Afraid?" she challenged.

"No," he said, "just worried. What if something happens and I can't get air back to you?"

"You will. Like I said, I trust you. And what's the worst that can happen? I fall unconscious." She paused. "Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I can't do dangerous things."

"I know!" He was exasperated now, the tension of a few short minutes ago fading a little. "I'm not saying you can't. I'm just saying –"

Hermione put her hands on her hips. He wouldn't have been surprised if she started tapping her foot. 

"Fine," he sighed. "We'll do it. Show me."

She smiled, and demonstrated the correct pronunciation and wand positions. He felt much worse than before – that was falling over, and he'd experienced it himself. This was not being able to breathe, and he had no idea what the spell would feel like.  

Hermione had been right. He _was_ afraid. 

They practiced for almost twenty minutes before Hermione stopped him. 

"That's good," she said. "Let's try it."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure," she said impatiently. 

"OK." He hesitated. "You want to sit down?"

"Alright."  
She took a seat in McGonagall's high-backed chair, and he came around the desk to face her. She was calm and composed. He felt like a nervous bloody wreck. He got down on his knees so that their faces were level – he didn't like standing over Hermione as though he was about to blast her.

"Right," he muttered, raising his wand and pointing it at her neck. His hand was shaking, and she saw. 

"It's alright," she murmured. "Just focus. That's all this is about. Focus. OK?"

"OK," he said under his breath. He cleared his throat again, and then tried to clear his mind too. Finally, when he thought he was ready (as ready as he'd ever be), he spoke:

"_Examino."_

Light shot out of his wand and struck her. To his horror, he realised he'd closed his eyes as he spoke, and he opened them now. Hermione still looked calm, if a little strained.

"You alright?" he asked anxiously, and then wanted to kick himself, because she certainly couldn't have talked. 

She nodded once, and bit her lip, clearly concentrating on the lack of air. He felt lost, and could only watch. Her face began to redden and she was frowning again, but heavily now, furiously. It was like watching a weight-lifter. 

He didn't like it one bit.

"That's it," he said after a little while, standing up. "I'm doing the counter-curse."

She made no physical reply, and he assumed she was refusing him. 

_Fine, let her be stubborn_, was his first thought, and he did nothing for half a minute, his whole body tense.

He waited for some kind of response, and still received none. 

"Hermione," he said loudly, bending to see her face – and swore when he saw that her eyes were teary.

"What's wrong with you? You want to pass out?" he demanded, and she made a choking noise. "'Mione?"

Ron dropped back to his knees, and her face was desperate. 

He understood. 

She wanted air – she just couldn't tell him. 

He felt like the worst man in the world.

"Fuck," he said, feeling himself go cold, and fumbled for the counter-spell, _respiratio_. It worked on his second attempt, and he felt such relief when the breath flooded into her that he nearly passed out himself. 

Hermione took one long, slow breath, and then fell forward onto him, her arms around his neck. She was crying. In automatic response, he put his arms around her too, and held her hard. 

"I'm so sorry," he said, close to her ear. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," she gasped. "I wanted you – to do the spell. I just – I couldn't breathe – and it was alright at first – and then it wasn't – and I wanted to tell you – but I couldn't – because I didn't have any air – Ron –"

And she sobbed into his shoulder. He'd never, ever seen Hermione cry like that, and it was horrible. He didn't know what to say to make her feel better, to reassure her, and so made pitiful, meaningless noises that he hoped helped a little. He'd never held a girl like this either, and didn't know the etiquette of it. Touch her hair? Her neck? He did his best, but was pretty sure his best wasn't enough. 

The guilt was overpowering, too. He wished he was dead – more than that, he wished that whoever had invented that stupid spell was dead – or never been born – so he could never have invented it – 

"Bloody hell," he said unsteadily, and then realised that she wasn't crying anymore. She was just leaning against his shoulder. 

"Are you OK?" he said.

She nodded, pulling back, and wiped her face self-consciously. "Sorry. It's stupid to cry. I panicked."

"Shut up. It's all my fault."

"_You _shut up," she retorted hoarsely. "It's all mine. I was too ambitious – I'm always too ambitious." She trailed off, and looked miserable. 

"You're the smartest witch in the world," Ron said, "so I don't know what you're talking about. But Merlin, you scared me."

Hermione looked at him, and her face was streaked with tears, and still a little red from lack of air. 

"Thanks," she said quietly. "For doing the counter-spell."

"You're welcome."

There was a pregnant silence, and then he stood, lifting her to her feet as he did so.

"Are you OK?" he said again. 

"Fine," she replied, smiling shakily. "Don't be stupid, I'm fine now. Honestly."

Ginny chose that moment to walk in.

"Oh," she said, seeing Hermione's wet face and Ron's hand on her shoulder, and making as though to leave. "Excuse me."

"No, no," Hermione and Ron said quickly, almost in unison. 

Ginny turned back. "What?"

"We're done," said Hermione.

"Er – yes," agreed Ron. "Done."

"Right," Ginny said shrewdly, looking from one to the other. "OK. I thought I'd see if you fancied a chat, 'Mione."

"Come up to my room," she said, walking over to her. Ron picked up his quidditch bag and followed, feeling somehow as though he'd been caught misbehaving. 

Which he hadn't been. Because nothing had happened. 

Out in the corridor, Hermione turned to Ron. "Me and Ginny are going this way. That was a good session. You should show Lupin tomorrow. Or we'll do it at the D.A."

"Hermione – are you sure –" he began uncertainly, but found he couldn't voice his thoughts in front of Ginny. 

"I'm fine," Hermione said briskly. "And I'll see you tomorrow. Let's – do this again, OK?"

"Right. Just not _examino._"

"Right," she said, laughing a little forcedly. "Night."

"Night."

She and Ginny disappeared round the corner, and he made his way back to the common room alone. He didn't mention what had happened to Harry, and soon went to bed. He felt tired, even more so than usual, but sleep was surprisingly elusive. 

It was in this half-awake state that he realised something else. 

He'd liked holding Hermione like that. He'd like being able to touch her, and having her close. 

He liked having her close in general. 

What did it mean?

He went to sleep with visions of tear-struck faces, bare legs, and a head on his shoulder.

~

**Latin Translations**

Accido – to fall

Exanimo – to take away the breath of; to wind, stun, weaken.

Respiratio – taking breath


	7. Man to Man

A/N:  CPR jokes – everyone's a comedian *grin* … ~call2thecolourblind~ Shez

~

Ron woke early the next morning. He was still tired, but couldn't sleep, and didn't try. When he pulled back his curtains, yawning widely, he saw Harry already changing for the day. His hair was sticking up, his glasses skew-if, and he was knotting his tie rather absently. 

"Morning," Ron said. 

"Morning," Harry replied, running two hands through his hair. "How'd you sleep?"

"Fine. Why?"

"You were mumbling."

"I was?" he said, a little nervously. Talking in your sleep wasn't a good thing, was it? "What did I say?"

"Nothing," said Harry. "Or I couldn't understand you, anyway."

Ron nodded and rose, feeling about for his uniform. Harry finished and waited for him, leaning against his bedpost. 

"So," he said. "How did the tutorial go?"  
Ron looked quickly at him, and then back to his buttons. "Not bad."

"What did you do?"

"Defence jinxes."

"Really?" Harry raised his eyebrows. "What, you don't get enough in class and the DA?"

"That's what I said. But she wanted to, so …" He trailed off, and Harry half-smiled. 

"So you did," he finished for him. 

Ron glanced up again, but Harry was facing the other way, picking up his wand. 

"Come on," he said. "I'm starving."

Ron tugged on his shoes, and followed Harry downstairs. He was torn between wanting to talk to him about Hermione, and not wanting to sound like a prat. They had passed through the empty common room and out the portrait hole before Ron found himself speaking. 

"So she did this spell," he said quickly, and Harry turned his head a little as they walked. Ron didn't give him time to cut in. "So she did this spell where she took all her breath away, and it scared the crap out of me. I thought she was going to die or something."

"Right," said Harry, after a brief pause. 

"And it was weird, because she started crying," Ron plunged on, "and she sort of – you know, fell into my arms. And cried. You know."

"Uh-huh," said Harry carefully. "And then what happened?"

"What do you mean, 'and then what happened'?" asked Ron, a bit confused. "Then Ginny arrived, and they went off."  
He thought he heard Harry sigh, but then wasn't sure, because he spoke soon after. "So what's the matter?"

"I – don't know," said Ron. "Don't know. Just thought I'd tell you."

"Right," said Harry again. "When's your next lesson, then?"

"She didn't say."

"Think it did you any good?"

"I – yeah, I guess," Ron replied, feeling, for some reason, a little defensive. "Should be useful for class."

"Useful for class." Harry looked at him sidelong, and then shook his head. 

"What?" asked Ron. 

"Nothing," Harry said. 

"What?"

"Nothing."

"_What?_"

"You liked it when she 'fell into your arms', didn't you?" Harry said suddenly.

Ron stopped in his tracks. Harry stopped with him.

"What the – what do you mean?" Ron spluttered, feeling his ears redden, his heart quicken. 

"Well, didn't you?" Harry said, folding his arms over his chest. 

"What is this stuff you keep coming out with?" Ron said angrily.

"What stuff?"

"You know what stuff."

"The 'why don't you ask her out'?"

"Stop answering my questions with questions! Bloody hell!"

"Mate," said Harry, laughing just a little in exasperation. "What do you _think_ I'm trying to do? I'm trying to knock some sense into you before Hermione gives up. You like her. You always have. You just won't admit it."

Ron stared at him. He could feel his blood rushing through his body. 

He liked Hermione?

_Liked_ Hermione? In that way?

"I – don't know what you're talking about," he muttered uncertainly, even as Harry cocked an eyebrow at him. "We're friends."

"Course you're friends," said Harry, in his best quidditch captain voice. "That doesn't mean you can't like her. And you do, don't you?"

Ron couldn't speak. His brain was going too fast to speak. So many images passed through his mind – her body wrapped in a towel; her expression on his first day at Hogwarts; her turning to face him in the Transfiguration classroom; her breathless, desperate tears. 

"You do, don't you?" said Harry quietly.   
Ron opened his mouth, then closed it again. A group of students came along the hall, and Ron and Harry separated to let them pass. When the two came together again, Harry was scratching his head. 

"Well," he said, "why don't you think about it." He paused, and then set off down the corridor. "Come on, breakfast," he called over his shoulder. 

Ron went after him, his thoughts swirling about dizzyingly, even as he tried to push them down.

~ 

Sitting in History of Magic later that day, Ron finally allowed himself to give proper consideration to what Harry had said. 

_OK,_ he thought, taking a deep breath, while Professor Binns droned on in the background. _Let's look at this. _

Unable to stop himself, he turned slightly in his seat, and caught a view of Hermione from the corner of his eye. She was writing furiously, hair in her face, occasionally blowing strands out of the way. The tips of her fingers were stained with ink, and she was frowning in concentration. 

He felt hot and thick-headed just looking at her, and quickly glanced away again. He hoped Harry couldn't hear his heart – in his ears, it sounded as loud as the twins Apparating, and twice as fast.

"Merlin," he muttered under his breath. 

"What is the problem here?" croaked Professor Binns, and Ron started. The class was staring at him. He'd forgotten how silent it was in History – everyone was quiet with boredom, and even the slightest whisper echoed. 

"Er – nothing," Ron said, trying not to sound too wild. He _never_ drew attention to himself in History of Magic, and he had no idea what Binns would do. 

The ghost floated a little closer. "Then you can tell me," he said, "of which Lord Ogre I was speaking before your impertinent interruption."

"Ah – um –" began Ron, looking at Harry (who shrugged helplessly). Hermione was clearing her throat behind him, clearly trying to get him to deflect the question her way, but he didn't want to look at her again. 

"Gorlic Snorzlebust?" he said finally, already wincing in anticipation of one of Binns' dreaded (and rarely given) mind-numbing detentions. 

The professor stared at him for a few moments, and then floated back to his usual position by his desk. 

"Lucky guess," he said touchily, and went on with the lesson. 

Ron breathed a sigh of relief. It _was_ a lucky bloody guess. It was also the only name he could remember from their textbook – and the heading of their current chapter. 

Hermione poked him lightly from behind. He felt a sharp tingle spread over his body, and had to bite his lip. The gesture was affectionate and sweet and so _her_, and in his mind he saw himself take her hand, put his arm around her. 

The realisation was as sudden and forceful as a blow to the face. 

He _did_ like Hermione – that way. Even though she was his best friend (along with Harry), and even though she could be a know-it-all bossy-boots, and even though she was cleverer than him – despite all that – despite all his better judgment – 

He liked her. 

And after a brief, glad surge of pleasure, and an overwhelming desire to announce this to the world, came a crushing dismay. 

He liked her – but how could she possibly like him?

~

"I need to talk to you," Ron hissed in Harry's ear, on the way out of class. 

"Alright," Harry said, surprised. "You can come help me down at the quidditch pitch."

"Harry," said Hermione, tapping him on the shoulder. Ron looked away. He didn't know how to behave around her yet, with this feeling coming up inside of him. "Where are you going?" 

"Quidditch," Harry said shortly. 

She made a face. "Not coming to lunch?"

"No."

"Ron?"

"Er – no," he said, in a strangled voice. 

Hermione raised her eyebrows at him. "You?" she said incredulously. "Not wanting food?"

"No – I'm not hungry."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. I'm sure."

"Are you alright?"

"Fine."

"Well – OK," she said, a bit suspiciously. God, he felt like a prat. "See you this afternoon, then."

"See you, Hermione," agreed Harry. 

She left, and Harry turned to him. "What was that?"

"Just let's go," said Ron, striding out of the classroom, and maintaining a rapid pace all the way down to the pitch. He stopped when he reached the field and spun around to face Harry, who'd been following. 

"Why the rush?" asked Harry breathlessly. 

"You were right, I like Hermione," Ron blurted.

He immediately wished the ground would swallow him up, but Harry didn't laugh. He put his hands on his hips and grinned instead. 

"Well, it's about bloody time," he said. "I'm glad I said something now."

"Did you say all that just to make me admit it?" Ron asked, rather indignantly. 

"I said it because I was sick of you tiptoeing around the issue. I was talking to Ginny the other day –"

"Ginny?" Ron interrupted, and Harry flushed faintly. 

"Yeah," he said, and then went on quickly: "I was speaking to her, and decided I should just – give you a bit of a push. Gin's idea, really. She thought you'd need it. And after having to watch you two go back and forth for six years …" He trailed off.

"Well thanks," said Ron angrily, running a hand through his hair. It was sticking up at the back, but he didn't care. "I was better off not knowing, I think."

Harry shook his head. "You knew," he said. "Course you did. You just didn't know in the front bit of your brain. Things are like that sometimes. When Sirius –" He cleared his throat. "When we lost Sirius, that's how it felt. Like I knew, but not in the part of my mind that could understand it." He flushed again. "Sorry. I sound like a twat."

"No," Ron said. "I think you're right."

They stood where they were for a moment, and then Ron kicked at the field with his foot. 

"I _do _like her," he said, rather miserably. "But she doesn't like me, and what am I supposed to do about it?"

"How do you know she doesn't like you?" said Harry. "I would've thought –"

He stopped. 

"What?" asked Ron. 

"I don't know. I would've thought she did, that's all."

"Did Ginny say something?"

"No," said Harry defensively. "Why would she?"

"I don't know. You were talking to her about me before, weren't you?"

Harry mumbled something, and Ron thought he'd better change the subject – or at least bring them back to the point.

"It doesn't matter," he said. "She doesn't want me. Why would she? I mean, I'm – well, I'm poor, aren't I? And not very clever. And a too-tall redhead, to boot. There are plenty of other people who – deserve her better."  
He said this last lowly. He wasn't searching for sympathy; he would have slapped Harry over the head if he'd tried to give any. It was what he believed, pure and simple – that Hermione deserved something more than plain Ron Weasley. 

"Ron," Harry said, after a long, heavy silence. "You think too much about all that."

Ron made to speak, but Harry went on, a little louder. 

"Did you ever consider that maybe she doesn't care a whole lot about things like money? And that if she likes you – which she does, in my opinion – you're only going to know if you ask?"

Ron said nothing, and Harry put a hand on his shoulder. "You're too hard on yourself," he said, more gently. "You're not all that bad." He paused. "I mean, you don't smell great, or have much dress sense …"

"Lovely," Ron said sarcastically, but relieved to be back on familiar ground again, ribbing each other. He blew out a long breath. "Jesus. Alright. What do I do now?"

"Now?" said Harry, removing his hand. "You could help me with some team strategy." 

"About Hermione," Ron said impatiently.

"Like I said. Ask her."

"What, am I just going to walk up tonight and say: 'Hello 'Mione, cold evening isn't it, I was wondering, do you like me?'"

"Sure," said Harry, managing to maintain a straight face. 

"Bloody hell!"

"Well, maybe not exactly like that. Talk to Ginny, maybe."

"Why don't you talk to her for me?" Ron said unthinkingly, and Harry looked embarrassed. 

"What?"

"Nothing."

"No, what?"

"Just you two are rather close these days," Ron said hurriedly. He didn't want to provoke Harry about her, especially now that he knew exactly how it felt to be provoked. "That's all. I didn't mean – anything."

But Harry didn't look annoyed this time. He put his hands in his pockets and frowned at the grass. 

"Yeah," he said, in almost an undertone. "She's been good. It's been good to talk to her."

They stood in another, rather awkward silence, and this time it was Ron who broke it.

"I can't just ask her," he said. "I can't."

Thinking about it made his insides feel cold. 

"Well," Harry said, moving back into encouragement mode, "just give it time then. Wait for the right moment."

"The right moment," Ron repeated. Actually, that sounded a good idea. He could stall the dreaded admittance to Hermione, figure out whether or not she really liked him, and even maintain his dignity for a little while. "Alright," he said. "But what do I do in the meantime?"

"What do you mean, what do you do?"

"I mean, how am I supposed to talk to her normally anymore?" he explained, exasperated with his own ridiculousness. "I mean, I just look at her and I want to – to –"

Harry held up a hand. "Don't finish that sentence," he said firmly. "I don't know, Ron. Just don't think about it."

"Don't think about it?" he protested. "How can I not?"

"Easy," said Harry – a bit grimly, he thought. "Push it down, stay busy, don't let it come up till you're ready."

Ron frowned. If that was what Harry was doing – about Ginny, about Voldemort, about Hagrid – he didn't think it could be healthy. 

"Harry …" he began, but his friend cut him off. 

"Come on," he said. "Enough of the girl talk. I do actually have a team to captain, you know."

They went down into the Strategy Room, adjacent to the change-rooms, and Ron didn't pursue the issue. It soon left his mind, anyway. He was thinking too hard about Hermione, and hoping, quite desperately, that he'd manage to be relatively normal when next he saw her. 

~

A/N:  Big self-esteem issues, this boy. But I'm sure he'll sort them out. ;)


	8. A Bit of Courage

Ron did his best to be himself, but found it more difficult than he'd imagined. Mostly he could push his feelings down, like Harry had suggested (yes, even _he_ knew that wasn't exactly a good thing, but how else was he supposed to function?). The only problem was that whenever the feelings rose up again, it was like a hand closed around his throat, and he didn't know what to say. 

And those moments came around at the most random times. She'd tuck her hair behind her ear, and his heart would thud so wildly that he was afraid he'd have an aneurism. She'd point out something he'd done wrong in Potions, and he'd want to kiss her. It was madness. And it wasn't doing much for his blood pressure.

He'd never felt like this before. 

Luckily he was caught up a lot in work and quidditch, or he didn't know what he'd have done. Had a fit or something, probably.

And more than that, he had no idea how he'd missed all this before, how he hadn't seen it. The little turns of her head, the way she pronounced her words, the way her tie was always knotted with a slightly leftward skew, the sway of her skirt above her knees. How could he not have seen these things? How could he not have wanted to grab her and carry her off?

Ron didn't know, but the pressure of containing himself was so fierce, that he was often glad that he hadn't realised (or admitted?) these feelings before now. 

He'd caught a few strange looks from Hermione, but mostly hoped that she wasn't noticing his odd behaviour, and ostensible surliness. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk her – he did, desperately, all the time. And when he looked at her and thought, very firmly, _friend_, it was OK. Just when he looked at her, and saw that different 'Mione … 

Then it wasn't so OK. Then he was quiet and shy and couldn't meet her eye. 

He hated it. He wanted the feeling to end, but couldn't bring himself to do anything about it. 

Saturday morning was the first quidditch game of the year, and left him doubly nervous. No matter how many choruses of 'Weasley is our King' he heard, he still felt those pre-game jitters as badly as ever. In the change-rooms after breakfast, Harry must have noticed, because he slapped him on the shoulder.

"Don't worry," he said. "You'll be fine."

"How'm I going to fly if she's watching?" he hissed. 

Harry rolled his eyes. "For God's sake. You've done it two years."

"It's different, and you know it," Ron said, resisting the urge to poke him. "I can't concentrate anymore."

"Just focus."

"Just focus, my arse," snapped Ron. "It's not that easy. And I've been flying like shite lately."

"You have," Harry admitted frankly, and Ron kicked him in the shin. "Ow. Well, you have. But it's all different when you're playing for real – and I'm telling you now, if you stuff this up, there'll be hell to pay."

"Alright, alright," groaned Ron. "Look, here comes your team now."

The girls were entering through the adjacent change-room. Harry had ended up keeping Colin Creevey (he was forced by McGonagall, as Colin hadn't technically thrown the bludger [A/N: duly noted, Trav]), and Seamus was the new second Beater. Harry wasn't at all happy with this choice – Seamus could be very erratic – but it was the best he had. At that point, he and Colin were still changing into their robes. 

"Out!" shouted Seamus, when he saw the girls wander in. 

"It's not like we haven't seen it all before," said Ginny, allowing her gaze to run teasingly over them all. None were changed yet.

"Maybe _you_ have," said Alice, giggling a bit. "You live in a house with six brothers."

"Ginny," Harry said gently. "Could you just give us all one second?"

"Sure," she grinned. "Come on, girls."

They turned to leave, and Harry quickly pulled off his shirt, grabbing his quidditch robes as he did so. Was it Ron's imagination, or did Ginny flick her eyes Harry's way before she ducked out, and hesitate briefly in the doorway?

 He shook the thought away. He didn't want to consider his little sister having a perv – too creepy. 

"Right," Harry said, wriggling into his robes, and wincing as his captain's badge stuck him in the chest. "Right. Same drill as usual. Careful of the girls, but don't be scared to play properly. Wood always told us that you ought to be considerate of girls in quidditch, but also understand how tough they are. All good?"

"All good, Harry," said Colin enthusiastically. "We've got it. Not like my brother hitting a bludger at Ginny Weasley. Hey, Harry?"

"No," Harry said, through gritted teeth. "Not like that."

"Er – hello?" came a small voice from outside. "Ron?"  
Harry looked sharply at him. "Who's that?"

"Hello?" came the voice again, uncertainly. 

Ron swallowed and pulled his robes over his head properly. 

"Hermione," he said shortly. 

Harry nodded. "You've got ten minutes," he said, and then went to fetch the girls.

Ron composed himself with a fast, inner dialogue of encouraging self-talk, and then made his way to the outer change-room door. Hermione was standing in the corridor that led up to the pitch, and he felt a sharp jolt when he saw her, and heard the distant roaring of the crowd.

"Hi," he said. 

"Hi," she replied, coming a bit closer. "Are they new robes?"  
He shrugged, rather embarrassed, and looked at the ground. "Fred's old ones."

"Oh. They fit you well, don't they?"

"Not really. Fred's shorter. Mum extended the hem."

"Right." He glanced up – she was looking at her feet too, but then met his eye. "Ron, are you angry with me?"

This definitely surprised him. "What? No! No. What would give you that idea?"

"I don't know," she said. "You've just been a bit weird this week. Not really – you know, talking to me. And I thought – I don't know – that maybe you were upset about the tutorial – I don't know," she finished.

"No, I – I'm not upset," he said, flushing a bit. 

"You're not?"

"No. I've just been – er, tired." 

"So what happened, with the _examino_ spell … that didn't bother you?"

"Of course it bothered me," he said fervently, and then took a breath to try and control himself. "Yeah. I mean, it bothered me. It – scared me a bit."

"It scared me a bit too," she agreed softly. "Well, I just wanted to wish you luck, and figure out if I'd done something."

_You've turned me into a wreck_, he thought.   

"Nothing," he said firmly. "You haven't done anything."

"Well. I thought I'd clear the air. Just in case we lost you in the game," she added lightly, and smiled. He smiled back. 

They were smiling at each other. 

McGonagall's voice sounded over the pitch, calling all students to settle in the stands, and the moment moved on.

"OK," Ron said awkwardly. "I ought to get back. Thank you. For the luck, I mean."

"That's alright. Play well." She looked as though she might hug him for a moment, but didn't. She ran back up the passageway, and out of sight. 

He didn't know what to think of all this, but there was a pleasant buzzing in his head as he re-entered the change-rooms. Harry was in the middle of a fiery pep talk. 

"Ron," he said, in a bark very unlike his usual voice, and running remarkably along the lines of Wood and Angelina's old mania. "I was just going over the plan."

"The plan?" Ron said vaguely, and Harry's volume went up a bit. 

"Yes! The plan! The plan we've been working on this past month!"

"OK, OK," Ginny said, putting a hand on his arm. "Merlin, Harry. Breathe, right? It'll all be fine."

"Sorry," he muttered. "I just – I really want to do a good job on this."

"We'll do what you said Harry," said Colin solemnly. 

"Yeah," Seamus agreed, and Parvati and Alice, who had been unusually quiet (nerves, Ron suspected) piped up with their own assurances of 'doing their best' and 'flying hard'. Harry still looked a little pale and stressed, but he didn't launch into anymore crazed speeches, and when the call came for competitors to take to the field, he only gripped his broom and said: "Come on."

Ron walked beside him up the corridor.

"What'd she want?" Harry asked, leaning close to his ear. 

"Nothing. Just to wish me luck. And she thought I was angry."

"Angry, no," Harry said. "Horny, maybe."

"Hey!" Ron protested, but Harry was too tense to listen, and then they were coming up into sunlight and fresh air, and the crowds were cheering, and Ron felt that sick, dizzy, glad feeling of quidditch-playing swell up in his stomach. 

"My God," he heard Alice say, awe-struck. "Look at all those people!"

After the Gryffindor names had been announced, the Slytherins came out of their side. Ron had to physically rein himself in when Malfoy's name was called and he came striding onto the pitch, emerald robes flapping behind him. _Arrogant prat_, he thought, as he and Harry shook hands. 

But it was Hermione he was thinking of as Madame Hooch blew her whistle.

~

The game was going swimmingly for over half an hour. The Gryffindor team, a bit haphazard during practices, was practically on fire in a real game, swooping and diving, scoring every which way. Ron was at his Keeper best, warmed by the sense of doing his job properly, and Alice, Parvarti and Ginny were a surprisingly connected trio – when one wasn't around, another was always ready. Even Colin and Seamus were smacking most of the Slytherin bludges away – and Ron was happy to have Seamus there, because he kept giddy Colin in line. 

And Harry, being Harry, played his usual, easy best, keeping an eye out for the snitch, whilst still directing his team. 

Just when Ron was beginning to feel complacent, something happened. 

Malfoy saw the snitch before Harry. 

For a moment, Ron couldn't comprehend it. He looked from Draco, who was attempting to bypass an in-the-way Colin (thank you, Merlin) to reach the little gold ball, and then back up to Harry. He saw that, for once, the captain's eyes weren't on his work, but were fixed on Ron's red-haired sister as she flitted above the field. 

"Oi!" Ron roared, and Harry started, glancing at him. Ron jabbed a finger in Malfoy's direction, and Harry cursed and took off, but by now Malfoy had physically pushed Colin out of the way, abandoning the subtle approach for blatant speed. Harry, on his _Ascendant_, caught up to Malfoy before too long, but for some reason had trouble edging past him. Malfoy was dodging back and forth with considerable skill, and Harry, frantic in his pursuit, was too desperate to think things out.

It was Seamus who saved the day, thwacking a tremendous bludger directly between Harry and Malfoy. With unbelievably lucky aim, it missed both their heads by a whisker, and forced them to ease up a little. They pulled away from one another – 

A Slytherin bludger came right back at them, straight for Harry – 

Harry dropped quickly, but an unaware Malfoy was struck below the chest, and without a sound half-tumbled off his broom. He still had a hold, but his expression was painful, and Madame Hooch called a halt to the game. 

He came down to earth and Hooch approached him, an anxious Madame Pompfrey hovering in the background. Harry flew up beside Ron at goal. 

"Bloody attention-seeking git," Ron muttered. 

"Hope he's OK," said Harry. "That looked nasty."

"Yeah, nasty is what nasty prats should …" He trailed off. Hermione had come down to the treatment area and was standing beside Malfoy, who was holding his stomach with one arm, clearly trying not to wince. 

"What the hell?" Ron said, astonished. "Why is she there?"

"So's Snape," Harry pointed out, but Ron cut him off. 

"Snape! Snape's his bloody house teacher! What's 'Mione doing down there? Why's she so worried about Malfoy being hurt? What the bloody hell is going on?"

"They're friends, sort of – aren't they?" Harry said. 

"Not _that_ close!"

"Well they work together," Harry went on impatiently. "And you know what Hermione's like. She always has to see what's going on."

"True," Ron acknowledged reluctantly, as Malfoy clambered back onto his broom and sailed upward once more. Hooch blew her whistle, and Ron managed to shout a brief: "Keep your eyes on the ball!" at Harry before he was gone. 

~

Harry _did _catch the Snitch, and Gryffindor won, but only by a small margin. Harry vented a little in the change-rooms, but ended up congratulating them on a game well played, and thanking Seamus for his quick thinking at the right moment. 

He didn't say anything to Ron about why he'd been so distracted in the first place, and Ron didn't ask. Neither of them brought up Malfoy either.

Someone had organised a victory party in the common room for that night (Dean Thomas, Ron suspected, but didn't like to admit it), and Gryffindor was suitably festive. Harry had been down to the kitchens for Butterbeer, cakes and the rest, and it was all set up for the crowds, but none of the team ate much. He, Ron and Ginny sat on a couch by the fire, and went over the game play by play – although Harry and Ginny did most of the talking.

"Colin wasn't so bad," said Ginny.

Harry snorted. "Not so bad? He made about 3 of every 10 balls that came his way!"

"Well, we saw worse at try-outs. And I think he'll improve."

"He'd better, or I'll hold you accountable," Harry said, grinning a little. Ginny smiled back. They'd both had a few Butterbeers, and it was light stuff, but enough to make you feel happy. 

"Anyway," Harry went on, jerking his eyes away from Ginny, "our Keeper was in excellent form."

"Thanks," Ron muttered, taking a swig of Butterbeer himself. 

"Maybe it was a certain pre-game visitor," Ginny suggested teasingly, and Ron looked at her, then at Harry. 

"You told her?"

Harry shrugged, rather awkwardly. "Didn't think you'd mind."

"I don't. I don't mind. Doesn't matter."

"It's cute, Ron," Ginny said, grinning widely – he was immediately reminded of Fred and George. "You played well."

Ron _really_ wanted to mention a certain Gryffindor captain's lapse, but managed to keep his mouth shut. 

"Where's 'Mione?" he said eventually. 

"Don't know," Ginny shrugged. "Somewhere. I think she had a prefect meeting."

"Prefect meeting!" Ron began to stand up, but then saw Hermione entering through the portrait hole and sat back down again. She approached their coach, and threw herself down next to Ginny when she reached them. 

"Oh!" Hermione said, exasperated. 

"What?" Ginny asked.

"Stupid meetings!" She looked sharply at Ron. "And where were you?"

"Sorry," he said, ears reddening. "I forgot."

"You could have supported me if you were there. Oh, they're so stupid."

"What's stupid?" said Harry, and she folded her arms across her chest. 

"They want to have a silly Hallowe'en ball on the 31st!" she said angrily. "The 31st! That's three weeks away! And they want me to organise it! How on earth am I going to do that?"

"A Hallowe'en ball?" Harry repeated. He didn't sound too happy either. 

"A ball," said Hermione. "They just don't think, these prefects. But apparently they've cleared it with Dumbledore, and it's all in the calendar. I mean – well really!" She made a huffing noise and sat back against the cushions. 

Ron couldn't say anything. He was thinking of the Yule Ball, what a terrible time he'd had, how beautiful Hermione had looked, about stupid Krum, and stupid dress-robes, and he knew had to ask Hermione before another guy could even think of it – before Malfoy or anyone spoke up and claimed her.

"Want to go with me?" he said in a rush, gaze fixed on the deep-red carpet.

There was a silence in which Ron could feel three pairs of eyes on him. 

"What?" Hermione said eventually. 

He looked at her now – he had to see her face, try and read her reaction. 

Not much good. She just looked taken aback. 

"Er – do you want to go with me?" he said again, wishing he didn't have to repeat it, willing her to just put him out of his misery. 

Hermione stared at him, and from the corner of his eye he saw Ginny and Harry raise eyebrows at one another. Ron went on looking at Hermione, and she went on looking at him. 

"Alright," she said after a little while. "I'd like to."

Ron breathed a long, quiet breath. "Right," he said, his ears reddening despite all internal commands to the contrary. "Um – thank you."

"Thank you for asking me," she returned, her eyes flitting away now, to the floor, the fire, anything but him. 

Another tense silence was broken by a cheerful word from Ginny.

"Let's play some chess, shall we?"

"Yes, let's," Harry agreed, and soon they were all gathered around a board. Ron and Hermione didn't play. They just watched the game, and avoided eye contact. 

Ron felt ill with his own bravery.


	9. Brotherly Wisdom

A/N: Hey. *sighs happily* Thank you for reviews, *they make my Sunday night feel like a Friday night* (see what I did there Meegs? I WONDER who said that, and when??) … hehe, and I'm glad we cleared that up Trav … ~nm3x5s~ Shez    PS – A sequel to Aftermath is certainly a possibility. I have a few ideas floating around. Consider the sequel to be 'in the works', if you will … And now … back to Weasley and Co …

~

Ron's stomach was lurching with a mixture of pleasure and disbelief as he climbed the stairs to the boys' dormitory that night. His head was sort of spinning too, and his ears were shining a permanent red. 

He'd asked Hermione. He'd done it, just like that. And she said yes. 

He happily changed into pyjamas and pulled back his covers, when he heard Harry on the stairs (he'd been packing up the chess set with Ginny). For some reason, the sound of his feet brought Ron crashing back to reality, and he froze in the process of hopping into bed, feeling himself pale. 

Harry entered and went to his own bed, pulling off his glasses.

"Can't believe you asked her," he said, through a wide yawn. "That's great, Ron."

"Harry."

"Braver than I would've been."

"Harry."

"And you'll be able to make up for the Yule Ball."

"_Harry. _For Merlin's sake!"

Harry turned to look at him, startled, and Ron bit his lip. 

"What the hell am I doing?" he said hoarsely, and dropped abruptly to sit on his bed. 

Harry came over, a bit warily. "What do you mean?"

Ron put his head in his hands. "I mean, what am I doing asking her? I can't go to a ball with Hermione! I can't do it."

"Why not?"

"Because. I'm crap at those things. God, I forgot. I'm crap."

Harry sat next to him. "What things?"

"You know, dancing and – and compliments – and dressing up, and making conversation …"  
Harry cut him off. "Well I've never seen you dance, but you give me compliments about my quidditch, put some form of clothing on every morning, and speak at least five thousand words a day. I think you'll manage."

"Harry …" Ron said, in anguished tones, but the dark-haired boy plunged on. 

"Shut it. This is Hermione we're talking about. Girl of your dreams. And you're going with her if I have to wheel you into the room myself."

Ron looked at his feet, and took a deep, steadying breath. 

_OK, _he thought. _Harry's right. I can handle it. I can. _

"You right?" said Harry. 

"Yep. Thanks."

"Wanker," Harry said affectionately, elbowing him. He got up. "Oh, and by the way – I'm not wheeling you in."

He grinned and changed into pyjamas, and soon they were both in their beds. Ron felt a bit calmer. Harry could be good like that when he wanted. Anyway, he could think about all that later, he supposed. Right now, it was enough that he had a partner – not like the Yule Ball, and their last-ditch dash for decent girls. 

Then Ron thought of something. 

"Who're you taking, Harry?"

Harry was lying on his stomach, face in his pillow. "Don't know."

"Better get a wriggle on, mate."

"Ha-ha."

There was a brief, comfortable pause, and Ron had another thought.

"Take Ginny," he said impulsively.

Harry rolled over. "What?"

"Take Ginny. Then we'll be a kind of foursome."

"I can't take Ginny," Harry said, half-laughing. 

"Why not?"

Another pause, in which Harry stopped laughing.

"Well – she's your sister," he said awkwardly. 

"Yeah. Funny that."

"And my mate."

"'Mione's _my_ mate," Ron pointed out, and Harry flushed. 

"Yeah, I know," he said, sounding rather tense. "But that's different."

"Why, 'cos I like her?"

"Yeah, 'cos you like her."

Ron lay back thoughtfully, wondering how exactly he could work this out – because if Ginny and Harry were allowed to manoeuvre him, then he was going to manoeuvre right back. 

"Just ask her as a friend, then. Like I said, we'll go in a foursome. It'll be great."

"What happened to 'I can't go, I'm crap'?" said Harry, and Ron shrugged. 

"Don't you want to go with Ginny?"

"No!" Harry said quickly. "No, it's not that I don't want to go with her. Er – well, it just feels weird that's all. But maybe I will."

"Maybe you'll ask her?"

"Yeah, maybe."  
Another pause. 

"Night, Harry," said Ron. 

"Night."

He relaxed against his pillow and focussed on the dark ceiling. He, Harry, Ginny and Hermione – hopefully they were in for a much better evening than the last ball had been.

His worries surged up again as he lay there. He _was _crap at all this fussy, fancy stuff. 

And girls. He was crap at girl stuff too. He didn't know what you were supposed to say, how you were supposed to treat them when they were all dressed up and beautiful, and looked like women instead of students. And Hermione! Hermione was hard to talk to these days at the best of times – what was he supposed to do when she, again, turned into somebody else?

He frowned and shook his head as yet another thought entered his buzzing brain. There had to be another way, but – 

No. There was nothing else for it. 

He'd have to call in outside assistance. 

~

Ron paced anxiously in front of the Gryffindor fireplace the next night. It was just past twelve, and he'd specified in his letter that it would have to be after midnight if they were going to meet at all. That's assuming they'd got his letter. That's assuming they didn't think he was an utter prat for even asking. 

"Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath, stopping. He put a hand in his hair. Maybe he shouldn't do this. Maybe he should just go back upstairs. 

"No," he said aloud. 

No. He had to stay. He had to do _something_ to make himself feel better about this entire ball dilemma. 

He looked around, a bit nervously. Nobody in the common room, thank God – he'd be slaughtered if he was caught with unauthorised visitors, especially as a prefect. He paced a little more, and felt better.

At twelve-thirty, he was beginning to wonder if his message had gone astray when there was a whooshing sound from the fireplace (so loud, it made him jump), and two red-heads came stumbling out. 

"Hello, little brother," coughed George. "Lovely to see you. Twin, help me out."  
Fred dusted George's hair down, and George dusted Fred's. 

"Yes," Fred agreed when they were done. "Just smashing." His eyes widened as his gaze slid over the common room, and he put a hand to his heart. "George," he said emotionally. "Look at this old place."

George sighed. "Such sweet times. So many pranks developed. So much money gathered from so many unsuspecting clients."

"So many classes skipped," Fred went on, in similar tones. "So much homework undone."

"So many teachers ragged."

"So many Gryffindor girls shagged."

"So many illicit parties held."

"So many –"

"Enough!" said Ron, and then lowered his voice. "Enough. I didn't think you were coming."

"Neither did we, at first," said George, throwing himself down into an armchair. Fred chose the couch, and stretched out along its length, hands behind his head. "What's this 'urgent business' you had to talk about?"

"And it better be good," Fred said. "Because after coming all the way from London by Floo, we're neither of us happy bunnies."

Ron stood where he was, facing them, and swallowed. Suddenly he really didn't want to tell them anything.

"Well, it's not exactly urgent business," he managed. 

George blinked at him, and Fred sat up. 

"Uh-huh," Fred said. "But it's business, right?"

"Er – no. Not business exactly."

"Uh-huh," he said again. 

"Ron," George went on pleasantly. "Mind telling us why the fuck we're here then?"

Ron glanced from one to the other, and then hung his head, unable to believe he was saying this.

"I need help with a girl."

There was a short silence, and then Fred grinned at his twin and rubbed his hands together. 

"Prat," he said heartily. "_That's_ business. Now, what's on your mind?"

"What's on your cock, more like," said George, and Ron looked sharply at him. 

"Don't," he said. "It's not like that, OK?"

"Er – sorry," said George, taken aback. He raised his eyebrows at Fred. "It's not like that," he told him, in an exaggerated whisper, and Fred nodded. 

"Right," he said. "We're all agreed. It's not like that. So – what's it like?"  
Ron sat down in the armchair opposite George, and tried to put his thoughts together. The twins waited. And waited. 

"Hello there, Ron," George said eventually. "We're your brothers, Gred and Forge. You invited us to your school – in a daring bit of rule-breaking, I must say – to talk to you. We're right here. Shoot."

"Just say there was this girl," Ron began in a rush, "and you asked her to a ball, and she's perfect, you know, she's lovely, but you don't know anything about how a guy ought to _be _at a ball, and you don't want to make an arse of yourself … what would you do?"

"Oh, Hermione doesn't care about all that rot, does she?" Fred said frankly. 

"Who said anything about Hermione?" Ron protested. 

"Well you're taking her, aren't you?"

"Er – yes," he admitted. "I just – you know, I didn't want you hassling me. Or her. You know."

"We wouldn't do that," said George stoutly. "'Mione _is _a lovely girl."

"You never kick a man when he's down," Fred added. "And you, Ronald, are clearly down. The question is, why'd you bring this to us?"

"You've always been able to talk to girls," he said miserably. "I mean, you charm the pants off them."

"True," George murmured, buffing his nails against his expensive silk shirt.

"Literally," Fred continued, smiling wickedly. "But wouldn't Bill be a better option?"

"He's out of the country."

"So we were second choice?"

"Yeah."  
Fred paused thoughtfully. "OK," he said after a while. "I can live with second choice. Besides, I like talking about girls."

"The main thing is that you've asked her," George said firmly. "That's an excellent start. Very quick of you."

"And it only took six years."

"Please," Ron begged. "Focus."

"Alright, alright." Fred cleared his throat. "You're going to be astonished when you hear this, Ron, but the key to giving a girl a nice time on any date is –"

He leant forward in a conspiratorial kind of way and Ron found himself doing this same. 

"_Be yourself_," Fred finished. 

Ron sat back, exhaling heavily. "That," he said disgustedly. "That's no use at all. Isn't there some book I can read?"

"You _have _been spending a lot of time with Hermione," George commented, and Ron waved a 'stop it' hand at him.

"I know," Fred acknowledged, "it sounds like bollocks. But mate, you'll feel so much better for being exactly the way you are, and not worrying about keeping up the perfect little front, that it'll go just fine, and you'll be at her door with a goodnight snog –"

"Or shag," George interrupted. 

" – before you know it. Of course," Fred continued, "it helps if you're great people like us two, when you're being yourself. You've got such fantastic material to work with."

Ron thought about all this (editing out the twins' banter), and it actually made a certain kind of sense. He was going to be thinking too much about 'Mione to be able to concentrate on maintaining the 'perfect little front' anyway. 

"Right," he said. "OK. Be myself." He hesitated. "Got anything else?"

"Some practical advice," George offered. "When you see her dressed up for the first time, say something sweet. She'll think about if for hours afterwards, maybe days, who knows with girls? It'll hold, anyway."

"Bring her a flower," said Fred, continuing seamlessly from George's suggestion. "Or, if you want to be creative, something a bit different that you know she'll like."

"Right," Ron said again, sort of wishing he had a quill and paper with him, because now the twins were on a roll. 

"Don't overdress," said George, and Fred cut in. 

"But don't underdress either. Don't even think about wearing your jeans."

"I wasn't," Ron objected, but they weren't really listening anymore. 

"You can't dance to save your life, so just hold her and shuffle a bit. Don't try any fancy stuff."

"Don't stick your tongue down her throat."

"Unless it's to clear it if she's choking," George said, in a clarifying kind of way, and Fred nodded. 

"Right. Be funny, but don't try too hard."

"Talk to her girlfriends."

"Be polite."

"Jesus!" Ron said loudly, and the twins paused to look at him. 

"What?" asked Fred innocently, and Ron stood. 

"Thanks very much for your help," he said, in as final a tone as he could muster up. "I'll try and remember it all."

"Want to borrow robes?" George offered, standing too.

"I've got some."

"Well, let us know. And, ah –" Fred winked. "Let us know how the big day goes too, won't you?"

"Sure," Ron said, flushing. The twins moved to the fireplace and stepped inside, pulling Floo powder out of their pockets. He felt a bit bad about – well, kicking them out, and tried to soften the blow. "Hey, thanks for being so good about this."

"That's alright," George said magnanimously, and then grinned. "Just wait till we tell the family."

"George!"

His brother sent him a brief half-salute. "Just kidding, Ron. Night."  
He tried not to show his relief, and waved goodbye. "Night."

They were gone in a snap of smoke and ash, and Ron sat down again, feeling overwhelmed with information. He had no idea how he was going to remember it all, but figured if he could get the main items down, he'd be alright. 

He just had to be himself, after all. 

The trouble was, he didn't really believe that 'just himself' was good enough. 

He was too tired to think anymore, too nervous to worry. He went up to bed. 

~

A/N: F&G, back by popular request. *grin* … Pure, fun fluff. Now I'm going to bed too. ~98n6~ Shez


	10. Progressions

A/N: Am such a wank. Guess what I forgot? Ahem…

Diclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Characters and settings associated with the Harry Potter world featuring in this, and all future and preceding chapters, belong to J. K. Rowling etc. 

However the plot is all mine, and still running nicely. Read on … rather a short chap ahead, but it's more a transition than anything else, so bear with me … ~thank you, Osaka!~ Shez

~ 

The following afternoon, Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione were sitting under a tree by the lake, attempting to do some work. Ginny had urged them out, claiming that it was too lovely a day to sit inside, and she was right – the air had that beautiful balance of warm and cool that one can find midway through autumn, on good days, when the wind isn't too blustery and the sun is only half out.

Ginny was reading over Harry's plans for the next quidditch game, scheduled for just after Hallowe'en. Every now and again she would murmur and point at a diagram, and Harry would write something beside it. They were very absorbed.

Hermione was absorbed too, in writing a list. She seemed to be scribbling an endless parade of things-to-do and people-to-see this week, and was already distracted with ball preparations. Ron pretended to read, and watched her over the top of his book. He wondered if the twins' suggestions would work with Hermione. Sometimes he was convinced she was just like other girls, with the same mentality, the same desires – and other times, he told himself that he was being ridiculous, that Hermione was a different breed altogether. 

He sighed and turned a page, dragging his eyes away from her face. He supposed he wouldn't know until he tried. 

They hadn't really been alone since he'd asked her – since before he'd asked her, at the quidditch match – and Ron was sort of glad. He had no idea what he'd say if it was just the two of them (and was understandably nervous about spending an evening with her). He knew he had to get over it as soon as possible.

He just didn't know how. 

He didn't know a lot of things at the moment. 

There was a cough from somewhere nearby and they all (with the exception of Hermione) looked up. Dean Thomas was standing there, looking extremely anxious and flustered, eyes fixed on Ginny. 

"What?" Ron said challengingly, and Ginny gave him a look. 

"Hi Dean," she said. 

"Hi. Er – can I speak to you, please?"

"Now?"

Dean shuffled his feet. "Yeah. If you're not too busy."

"OK." She stood and walked over to him, and they moved a short distance from the rest of the group. Harry was frowning at his papers, but his head was cocked in the direction of Ginny and Dean. 

"Hey," Ron said, poking Harry in the knee, and he jumped. 

"What?"

"You asked her yet?"

"What?"

"Have you asked Ginny yet?"

"Ah – no," he mumbled, flushing red.

"Why the hell not?" Ron exclaimed. "That's exactly what Dean's doing now!"

"I – I don't know," he said, a bit helplessly. "I just – I guess I forgot."

"Forgot my arse. You were scared. Hermione, are you hearing this?"

"Mm-hm," she said, quill scratching away. Ron suspected that she hadn't caught a word, and when it became clear that Harry wasn't going to run up to Ginny and snatch her away from Dean, he took matters into his own hands. 

"Oi! Thomas!" he shouted, and whistled at him. 

Dean and Ginny stopped talking. 

"Don't whistle," Hermione said absently, but Ron ignored her as the couple approached. 

"What's up, Ron?" Dean asked nervously. 

"Yes, _Ron_," Ginny repeated tensely. "What's up?"

How to go about this delicately?  
He opened his mouth to be polite, and then closed it again. 

No. Screw delicate. Dean was a dick to Ginny last year, didn't deserve her for a second, and no way was he going to ruin Ron's plans of safety-in-numbers for the ball.

"You can't go with Gin to the ball, Dean, if that's what you're here for," he said bluntly.  
Dean looked taken aback, and Ginny widened her eyes at him.

"Er – why not?" Dean asked. 

"She's going with someone else." He glanced at Ginny significantly. "Remember?"

"Ron …"

"Oh, OK," Dean said hurriedly, "that's fine then. Sorry. You know, don't worry about it. Sorry. Bye, Gin."

"Bye," she said faintly, and watched him walk away before exploding at Ron.

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

"That! _That! _Scaring off my ball date!"

"You don't want to go with him."

She put her hands on her hips. Harry was sitting up, and even Hermione was paying attention now. "Oh, really? Why not?"

"Because. He was awful to you, wasn't he?"

"Well – yeah, a bit," she admitted, and then fired up again. "But I have to take someone, don't I? And it's none of your business, Ron. You can't just go around lying to any boy who asks me just because you think …"

"I wasn't lying," he interrupted. 

"Right, because I already have a date," she said sarcastically, and he nodded. She dropped her hands from her waist in surprise. "What?"

"You're going with Harry," Ron said. 

Ginny's gaze shifted from her brother to Harry, who was staring at Ron as though he'd just sprouted wings. Then Harry's eyes moved too, and met Ginny's. They looked at each other for a long, taut moment. 

"No I'm not," Ginny said eventually. 

"'Course you are," said Ron. "Isn't she, Harry? We're going as a foursome."

Harry said nothing, and Ginny went on looking at him. 

"I'm not," she snapped, "because he hasn't even asked me. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to go and find Dean Thomas and tell him you made a mistake."

Without another word, she turned on her heel and stormed off in the direction of the castle. 

"Ron," Hermione said as she left, "that was the silliest thing you've done all year."

"What?" he objected.

"You can't just tell her what to do!"

"Why not?"

"Because it's not fair! And it's sexist! And –"

Here she trailed off, because Harry was standing up purposefully and moving at a fast jog after Ginny. Ron and Hermione sat in silence as they watched him catch up with her on the slope – her shake him off – his almost-audible protests – Ginny with her eyes on her feet as he spoke earnestly – 

Ron looked away. It seemed rather a private thing, and for some reason he didn't want to intrude. His eyes found Hermione's instead, and she was starting to smile. 

"Well," she said softly, "that's good."

"What? Harry and Ginny?"

"Yes," she said, rolling her parchment up and sticking her quill in the middle. "Harry and Ginny. It's good. And it's about time."

"We'll have a nice night," Ron said, suddenly aware of the fact that it was just the two of them, and feeling awkward. "At the ball, I mean. Us four."

"It'll be good," she said.   
A too-long silence followed. 

"So do you have robes yet?" he asked eventually.

"Oh – sort of."

"Right. Should I – I don't know, do we need to co-ordinate?"

She smiled a little wider and fiddled with her paper. "I'll get you something to match. What about your robes?"

"I've got new ones, after fourth year. Not the maroon and lace thing. Which is good, I think. I wouldn't want to embarrass you." He said this last lowly, and she replied in equally quiet tones. 

"It doesn't matter what you wear. You wouldn't embarrass me. Don't say things like that."

He risked a proper glance at her, but her eyes were on her knees. 

"Er – alright," he agreed, a bit hoarsely. "OK."

"I'm going to up to the library," she said suddenly, and stood. "See you at dinner."

"Bye."

She walked briskly away. Ron watched her go, and her words rang on in his ears.

~

It felt like they'd travelled back in time three years, to the weeks before the Yule Ball. Hogwarts was ablaze with the drama of it. It was all you heard in the corridors, all that was discussed in the common rooms, and everywhere you turned it seemed that there was some sick-looking bloke approaching a clutch of giggling girls. 

Ron felt sorry for the poor bastards, managing to forget that in fourth year he'd been one of them. He felt sorry for them – and he couldn't really believe that he already had a partner, that he'd passed through that particular ordeal, and without a scratch.

At dinner that night, he had to bypass several couples (many boys had hit upon the idea of cornering girls as they came in to eat, when they might be found alone) to get to the Gryffindor table. He sat heavily beside Harry, who was loading his plate. 

"Whew," he said. "It's a jungle out there."

Harry nodded and held a serving dish out to him. "Carrots?"

"Thanks."

Ron scooped them out, and when it became clear that Harry wasn't going to bring the subject up, he nudged him.

"So? Did you do it?"

"Do what?" Harry asked innocently, taking a mouthful of shepherd's pie.

"Ask Gin."

"What, to the ball?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Yes, to the ball."

"Right." Harry shrugged, clearly trying to contain a pleased expression. "Yeah."

"She say yes?"

"Yeah. After I apologised for you being a bloody idiot."

"Hey, if I hadn't been a bloody idiot, you wouldn't have had a partner."

"Who says?" Harry began to protest, but then Ginny sat beside him, and he stopped. 

"Hello," she said, rather shyly, and Harry smiled at her.

"Hello," he replied.

It was strange. Ron hadn't seen Ginny be _shy _for years. And he hadn't ever seen that look on Harry's face before.

"Do you want pie?" Harry asked.

She nodded, and he reached for the dish to serve her, when Hermione threw herself down next to Ron, grabbing at the nearest platter and piling food onto her plate. 

"'Mione?" he said, a bit startled. "You alright?"

"Can't talk," she responded. "Eating."

"Er – OK."  
She finished her meal in approximately two minutes, and then stood again. 

"Wait, where are you going?" Ron asked, and found himself standing with her. 

"I've got too much to do," she said, rather desperately, pushing her hair back. "I have to go and give these lists to Professor McGonagall, and then I have to speak to Professor Flitwick about the lights, and collect my potion from Professor Snape, and then there's patrols, and I've got to go."

She made to leave, and he grabbed her arm. 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said. "Hang on. What can I do?"

"What can you do?" She didn't seem to understand him. 

"Yeah. Give me a job, I'll go do it." His eyes brightened. "I'll do patrols for you. Maybe I can lose Malfoy somewhere."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Do you really want to help?"

"Of course," he said seriously. "I can't let you run around like this, can I?"

Her face softened a little. "Um – alright. Well, take these to McGonagall." She put several rolls of paper into his arms. "And then if you could pick up my potion from the classroom …"

He held up his free hand. "Consider it done. Sit. Eat dessert."

"Ron – thank you."

"Go on, sit down."

She sat. 

"Are you sure –" she began, but he was already walking away, waving goodbye. She smiled at him all the way to the door, and then turned back to her plate. 

That smile warmed him for the rest of the evening. 

~

Again, sorry about shortness. Much fluff and ball stuff to come! Hurrah! ~S.


	11. The Hallowe'en Ball

A/N: Another shout-out to the lovely Mr Mayer in this chapter. Who can spot it?? (Meegs, you're not allowed to play, hehe) … and thank you for reviews *sends kisses and hugs to everyone, and giggles excitedly about upcoming Hallowe'en ball* … ~98n6~ 

~

"Right," Ron muttered, adjusting the folds of his dress robes. "Right."

"Lovely," chirped his mirror. "Just smashing."

"Thanks," Ron said, running a hand through his hair absent-mindedly.

"Oh no, dear!" the mirror protested. "Now you've gone and ruined it!"

"Never mind," said Ron, turning as Harry came into the dorm. He was wearing black robes (he'd bought new ones for a sixth year presentation evening), and an anxious expression.  Ron looked down at his own robes. They were dark blue, very simple. The twins got them for him a few years ago, as a joint birthday-Christmas present. Ron had thought at the time that it was a bit much (even as _two _presents), but wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

Harry came to stand behind him in the mirror. 

"Thank God it's not fancy dress," he said, and Ron nodded fervently. Fancy dress certainly wasn't his thing – luckily McGonagall had specified that this was not to be a Hallowe'en costume ball, but a 'celebration of the holiday in a sensible, civilised manner'. 

"I feel like crap," Ron said then. "Look at my hair."

"Look at mine," said Harry miserably. "Mine's never going to be right."

"Oh, you. The girls love your hair. Bloody hell."

"What?"

"The number of times I've overheard girls talking about your hair, mate …"

"Shut up," said Harry, shoving Ron with a shoulder. He straightened and looked his reflection in the eye. "So. What's the plan?"

"We'll go down and meet Gin in the common room in five minutes. Then you two can go down, and I'll met 'Mione at her room."

"Right. Got all your stuff?"

Ron went to his bed and picked up the two single roses he'd placed there. "Flowers, check." He handed one to Harry. "It _was_ roses, right?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. They're pretty safe, aren't they?"

"I guess. Robes, check."

"Check," Harry agreed, "'cept I feel like a twat."

"Wands –"

They both patted their back trouser-pockets under their robes. They always took their wands with them these days. 

"Check," they said in unison.

"Is that it?" Harry asked. 

"I think so." He paused, and then said reluctantly: "Shall we go, then?"

Harry squared his shoulders. "Alright," he said. "Alright, let's go."

They headed downstairs. 

"Are you nervous?" Ron asked Harry as they went. 

"Course," he said shortly. "Aren't you?"

"Wetting myself," Ron admitted. "I hate this kind of thing. I hate being looked at, too."

"Well," said Harry, as they came out into the common room, "at least we're getting there a little late, so we won't … be …"

He trailed off, staring at the girls' staircase. Ginny was descending, and even Ron, who was her brother, had to admit she looked fantastic. Her robes were a lilac colour – feminine, but not too sweet. He didn't know how to explain it. A _sharp _sort of lilac. The material fell softly over her body, clinging lightly in places; her hair was out; she smelled like summer, somehow. 

Ron looked at Harry. He was clearly speechless, and as Ginny approached, Ron dug him in the ribs with an elbow, surreptitiously. Harry started and swallowed.

"Hello," Gin said as she reached them, flushing excitedly. "Wow, you boys look different." 

"You look beautiful," Ron said, giving her a quick hug. He released her and she turned to Harry. 

"Hello," she said again. 

Harry didn't say anything for a moment, and then held the rose out to her. She took it. "Thank you."

"That's alright."

Ron tried to pretend he wasn't there, and looked in another direction. He felt as though he was, yet again, intruding. 

"You look amazing," Harry said lowly, after a brief silence. 

"You don't scrub up too bad yourself." 

She smiled slowly, and then he did too. 

"Do you want to go down to the Great Hall?"

"Yes," she said softly, "let's go."

Harry took her free hand (in an old-style, courteous sort of gesture), and they began to move off.

"Er – right," said Ron. "I'm going to go meet 'Mione."  
He needn't have bothered. They weren't listening. In fact, he was pretty sure they'd forgotten he was there. He shook his head, and then headed out the portrait hole.

~

It was very quiet in the corridor outside her room, but when he came a little closer he could hear her footsteps. He waited a few metres from her door, which was slightly ajar again, hands automatically behind his back. His gaze wandered in the direction of Malfoy's room – Ron was pretty sure he wasn't there, because the door was shut tight, and glowing a little from the strength of an Impervious Charm. 

He knew that because of Hermione. Hermione taught him about Impervious Charms in 6th year. 

"Ron," she called suddenly, "is that you?"

"Er, yes," he returned, taking a step forward, then a step back. "I'm just – waiting here."

"I'll be two seconds. Sorry."

"That's alright."

Now he felt a little ill. He thought he'd had his nerves under control, to some degree. No – definitely feeling ill, and worried that she'd think he looked ridiculous, and worried that he wouldn't know what to say, and just worried. 

Now the door was opening, and she was coming out, smiling, shutting it behind her – and Merlin she looked beautiful, in robes all chocolate-brown, her hair softly curled and up, her eyes shaded with the faintest bronze. 

She was standing in front of him, looking nervous herself. She touched a ringlet that was coming out around her ear, and he knew if he didn't speak now, it would be forever-hold-your-peace, and he wouldn't get it out. 

"Hermione," he said, and stopped. 

_Great, _he thought acidly. _Very articulate._

"Ron," she said, smiling again. "You look nice."

He felt his ears redden, but found words. "You look about a thousand times better than I do, believe me. You look – really beautiful."

She blinked at him. "Thank you," she said eventually. "Thanks."

He was staring now, and had to force himself to stop. "Oh, this is for you."

He handed her the rose – she took it, thanking him again, and then jumped. 

"I've got something for you too. Hang on, I left it in there."

Hermione ran lightly back into her room, and then reappeared with a button-hole, a white carnation. "I thought it would go with the brown, anyway," she said. "Sort of."

She came towards him, and his heart went faster. 

"Hold on," she said, and pinned it to the appropriate fold of his robe. He was so aware of how close she was – he could smell her, her fingers brushed the skin of his neck – that he was almost sure he could hear her heart beating too. 

She stepped away from him a little and he, following Harry's example, took hold of her hand. He was as gentle as he could be – it was so small compared to his that he felt like he ought to be careful.

"D'you want to go down?" he said, after a pause. 

She looked sideways at him. "Yes," she said. "We should go, or we'll be late."

"Right."

They went downstairs. 

He couldn't really believe that he was beside her, that she was with him. It was the strangest thing, and the sweetest. 

~

Everyone was milling about in the Great Hall, which was festooned with decoration (although, on McGonagall's orders, it was all quite understated). Ron felt a little dizzy looking at all the students. Fifth, sixth and seventh years were invited, and it seemed that a few fourth-years had managed to tag along too. There were four different drinks tables set up, one for each house, and Ron thought they might make a beeline for the Gryffindor table when Lavender accosted them. 

"Hi, Ron," she said, literally batting her eyelids. She was hanging off Dean Thomas' arm. "Hi Hermione."

"Lavender," Hermione said pleasantly. "You look great."

"Thanks. So do you. I wouldn't have thought brown was your colour, but –" She shrugged, and Ron found himself tightening his grip on Hermione's hand in indignation,   " – there you go. And Ron," she added, "you look rather dashing, don't you?"

"Thanks," he said, and nodded at Dean. "Thomas."

"Weasley."

There was an awkward silence, and then Dean tugged at Lavender and muttered something in her ear. "We're going to get drinks," Lavender said chirpily, "you want to come?"

"Er –" Ron began, but then Hermione elbowed him (he assumed that meant 'no'), and he shook his head. 

"OK. See you later."

They disappeared into the crush, and Ron turned to Hermione. 

"Don't listen to her," he said. "Brown is definitely your colour."

"I'm don't care," Hermione said airily. "Hey look, there's Ginny and Harry. Oh, Ginny looks amazing! Come on, let's go!"

Her hand slipped out of his, and she went forward into the crowd. Ron followed, trying to peer around the people ahead, and soon spotted the couple. They were sitting in a corner, talking quietly, but they stopped when Hermione approached. Ginny stood, Harry too, and they'd all exchanged exclamations and greetings when Ron caught up. 

"I _love_ your robes!" Ginny was gushing. 

"No, I love yours!"  
Harry and Ron grinned at one another. Harry was standing rather close to Ginny – Ron himself was resisting the urge to grab Hermione and drag her away. 

Not long after, McGonagall's voice sounded throughout the Hall, and everyone fell into an almost-hush. 

"Welcome, students," she said, rather sternly. "I'd like to inform you before we begin that at the first sign of funny business, the ball will be closed. There will be only two supervising teachers at any given time" (she sounded cranky about this) "because Dumbledore has announced that he trusts you to behave as adults. But _be warned_ – the staff are on red alert."

Complete silence greeted this outburst. 

"Well," she said finally. "Now we have addressed that matter, I hope that you enjoy the night. Please thank your prefects for its organization" (polite clapping) "and your band, Warlock War. I would now ask our Head Boy and Girl to lead us in the dancing."

She stepped off the podium, and Ron turned to Hermione. She was staring at the place where McGonagall had been, and then looked at Ron. 

"I didn't know!" she said desperately. "I didn't."

"Doesn't matter," he insisted – albeit, a little awkwardly, a little grudgingly. "Go on, it's fine."

"Ron, I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

Malfoy was already making his way out onto the dance floor, as cool and collected as ever, and Hermione hurried out to meet him. The music started as they reached each other – not very slow, but not very fast either, and when Malfoy put his arms around her waist, Ron had to clench his fists. 

"Steady, mate," Harry said in his ear. "It's not for long."

He was right. Within thirty seconds, McGonagall had gestured for the rest of the students to take to the floor too, and there was a general surge forwards. Harry and Ginny kept him company for a while (Hermione couldn't very well leave Malfoy in the middle of a dance), but Ron urged them to go.

"Don't stay here 'cos of me," he said, a bit irritably. "I'm fine."

"If you're sure," Ginny said uncertainly.

"I'm sure. Go."

Harry shook his head, but led Ginny out, and Ron lost them again in the crowd – along with Hermione and Malfoy. 

~

About a quarter of an hour later, she came up behind him at the drinks table, pink in the face and laughing. 

"Hello," she said. 

She looked lovely. He took a sip of his drink. "Hello. Have fun dancing?"

She made a face. "You know I'd much rather dance with you. Want to?"

It was a fast song, and Ron remembered the twins' advice with a pang of apprehension. It was true. He couldn't dance for shite, and he'd have to wait for something slower if he was going to be passable. 

"Ah – maybe in a bit."

She seemed disappointed, and his heart leapt a little, but then Seamus was tapping her on the shoulder, and she was spinning away from him again. 

He kicked himself inwardly. Why didn't he just say he'd dance? He took a long swig of punch. 

"Careful there," said the guy serving – a sixth year Ron didn't recognise. 

"Careful? Of what?"

"Don't go drinking that too fast."

"Why?"

The boy looked shifty. "No reason."  
Ron frowned at him, and the sixth year sighed and leant forwards. "Spiked."

"_Spiked?!_"

"Shh! You know it's no fun with just punch."

"You can't spike it," Ron hissed. "We'll all be blamed."

"Hey, it wasn't me. And I'm telling everyone. Don't worry. I'm keeping them in line."

Ron stared at him in an agony of indecision. If he told the teachers, the ball would likely be called off, and the entire school would hate him. But if he let this guy handle things, who knows what would be going on by the end of the night?

"It's not spiked much, you said?" he asked warily, and the guy nodded vigorously. 

"Hardly at all. Just a pinch."

"And you're telling everyone?"

"Swear to God."

Ron leant towards him. "You better be," he said, in his most dangerous voice. "Or I'll talk to you later."

The guy nodded again. "Sure. No problem."

Ron walked away from the drinks table and found a suitable corner for brooding. This was getting more and more like the Yule Ball with each passing second. 

~

Over two hours passed – and he still hadn't danced with Hermione. 

He'd danced with Lavender twice (he'd crumbled under her persistence), to songs slow enough that he didn't feel like a git. She blatantly pressed herself against him, and he wished he was with Hermione.

He'd spoken to Padma Patil for almost half an hour. She seemed to have forgotten the Yule Ball – but was equally unimpressed with her current date, who was nowhere to be found. She bitched about him to Ron for some time. 

Later, he managed to get a few words in to an entirely distracted Harry.

And then he brooded in his brooding-corner.

Now and again, he'd spot her with someone on the dance floor, laughing, breathless. Or at the drinks table. Or talking to Ginny. It was just flashes through the crowd though, and he had no idea what she was up to most of the time. It was awful – occasionally he'd go looking for her, when a suitable song came on, but for some reason he was never in time to grab her and dance. 

It wasn't until late in the night, almost twelve o'clock, that he saw her again properly. Quite a few people had stopped to rest their feet (or go for a snog – the current supervisors were Professors Flitwick and Sprout, who didn't seem too fussed about anything, and were reading The Daily Prophet together in the corridor). Anyway, the floor was half-empty, and Hermione was standing with Ginny, talking animatedly. She seemed a little off-balance, and Ron was about to take this opportunity to snatch her up again, when the band started up a sweet, slow song.

_Right_, he thought, mentally preparing himself. _Just go. Just ask. Just point out that she's your date and you haven't danced together once. _

But before he could even move, Malfoy was tapping her on the shoulder. 

Ron watched in stunned, confounded silence. Yet again, thwarted by that bloody Slytherin. 

Hermione replied in the negative at first, he thought – she half-shook her head, and smiled an apology. But he said something else, and she hesitated, and then they were moving away from Ginny, and Malfoy's hand was on her waist again, the other touching her back.   
Ron was clenching his jaw _and _his fists now. He hated Malfoy with all his might, and he hated himself for not being brave enough to interrupt them. The thing was – she didn't look unhappy. She looked like she was having an alright time, there in Malfoy's arms.

That – well, that bothered him.

He was about to go for another drink when he saw, from the corner of his eye, Hermione pull back from Malfoy a little, and Malfoy clearly tightening his grip on her. She pulled back harder, and now he released her, as she went stumbling off the dance floor. In fact, she went right past Ron without seeing him, and into the corridor. 

He went after her quickly, and was in time to see her hurry past an oblivious Sprout and sleepy Flitwick. She passed through the doors and outside, and, concerned, Ron followed. 

When he came out, she was leaning against a column. He approached cautiously, and put a hand on her shoulder. She jumped, and when she turned, she was so pale that Ron began to frown. 

"What is it?" he said, in a heated murmur. "Is it Malfoy?"

"No – no," she managed, putting a hand to her head. 

"What? Tell me, what?"

"I just – I feel a bit sick."

And without any further ado, she took three steps out onto the grass and threw up. 

Ron didn't move for a moment, but then was moving faster than he thought he could, a hand on her back, the other pushing loose strands of her hair away from her mouth. He said something – he wasn't sure what, meaningless sounds – and when she was a little recovered led her over to a stone bench set against the castle wall. It was mostly in shadow, but a few lights from within and the high, bright moon meant he could see well enough. 

"I'm going to get water," he said decidedly, and went back inside. He briefly saw Harry and Ginny, dancing close, barely moving, but couldn't give them much thought. He headed outside once more, water in hand, and found her right where he'd left her. 

He'd almost been scared that she might disappear again. 

"Have a drink," he said, and she – oddly obedient – did so. When she was done, he took her drink from her and put it on the ground. She leant against him a little and sighed unsteadily. 

"Sorry," she said. "Sorry. I don't know what – that was."

"It's alright."

"I've got a headache."

"OK."

"Maybe from dancing. Maybe from dancing with punch in my stomach, that could make you sick couldn't it?"  
He raised his eyebrows at her. "Punch?"

She nodded against his shoulder. "I've had way too much punch. Way – too much punch."

Ron gritted his teeth. "Didn't – didn't the guy –" he began, and then stopped. 

No. Clearly the sixth-year hadn't informed her of the dangers of this 'non-alcoholic' punch. Ron kicked himself again – this time for being less observant. 

"Sorry I was sick," she said again, sounding a little teary, and he immediately forgot about the dickhead punch-server. 

"Hey," he said. "What's a ball date for but to help you when you throw up?"

She didn't seem to see the funny side of it, and looked up at him suddenly with such earnestness that his stomach turned over. 

"I'm a terrible partner. I'm sorry."

"Don't be ridiculous," he said awkwardly. 

"No," she insisted. "I haven't danced with you once. Not once. I just – I didn't really think you wanted to. Because you said, before … but I should have asked again. I'm sorry, Ron."

"Stop apologising."

"And then Malfoy wanted to dance, and I didn't really, but then we did, and then I didn't want to anymore," she rambled, her eyes fixed on his face. He was looking at her too. He'd never had such prolonged eye contact with her before, and it made him feel light-headed. 

"It's alright," he said quietly. "I don't care about Malfoy."  
There was a long, silent pause, and then, quite abruptly, she was kissing him hard on the lips. He was so startled that he didn't respond for a moment, but then was kissing her back, his hands shaking, one cupping the side of her face. They were kissing, and they weren't stopping, and she tasted of cold, clean water and punch. She made a noise into his mouth, and his tongue touched hers lightly, her lips against his both soft and firm. 

It was bizarre. It was amazing. It was the best thing that had ever happened to him. 

After almost a minute of this, she broke away and put a hand to her head. 

"It aches," she said plaintively, and he was momentarily hurt that she didn't seem to think anything of all this. But then she looked at him, her eyes widened, and she put a hand over her mouth. 

"Oh my God," she moaned, flushing crimson. "Oh my God."

"Hermione …" he began, but she was standing. He did the same.

"I'm so sorry," she babbled. "I didn't mean – oh God, I'm so embarrassed – I don't know where that came from –"

"It's OK."

"I'm sorry – I wasn't –"

"Hermione, wait …"

But she was going back into the castle at a stumbling half-run, and his legs were like lead, too heavy to go after her. 

He sat again. He didn't know what had just happened – but he was pretty sure it wasn't good. 

Still reeling, he replayed her words in his mind. 

She was embarrassed that she'd kissed him. 

She was sorry that she'd kissed him. 

And she was drunk when she kissed him. 

No. Not good.

~  
A/N: Please don't hit panic stations yet. I am so far from done, it's crazy. And all will be explained 'bout Hermione (silly girl), ASAP. Just hang on! ~call2thecolourblind~ Shez


	12. Uncertainties

A/N: Sorry it took me this long, am busy-busy. Doing my best! ~weekend at bernie's is on~ Shez

~

He went back into the Hall almost an hour later, heart thudding painfully. He didn't know if he could bear to see Hermione again yet, but when he scanned the room, he couldn't find her. He did see Harry, standing by the Gryffindor drinks table (the sixth year was gone, and Ron had to resist the urge to slap his own forehead), looking anxious. Ron approached him, and Harry didn't even notice he was there a minute had passed. 

"Hey," he said, starting. "Where were you?"

"Outside. Where's Gin?"

"Took Hermione up to bed. She wasn't feeling well. I said I'd go with them, but Ginny used that 'It's a girl thing' line, and I figured I'd better stay out of it." He was tapping his foot, quite unconsciously. "That was ages ago. I wonder what they're doing?"

"Who knows?" Ron said dismally, and Harry glanced sharply at him. 

"What happened?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Did you say something to Malfoy?"

"Why the hell would you think that?"

"He's not here either."

Ron gave the room a quick once-over, and found that Harry was right. Maybe the prat left when he realised he wouldn't be getting anything from Hermione. 

"No," Ron said eventually, "I didn't say something to Malfoy."

"Why are you being so weird about this?"

"I'm not."

"Oh, come on."

"I'm not."

"For Merlin's sake, Ron!"

"She kissed me, alright?" he said loudly. 

A few people looked over, and his ears went crimson. He tried to be invisible. 

Harry, on the other hand, stared at him, and then broke into a sudden smile and wild whooping.

"There you go!" he said happily, punching him on the shoulder. "It was only a matter of time. And _she _kissed _you._ You didn't even have to do the work."

"Harry – shut up," he snapped, and Harry's smile dropped away. He stared at Ron again, his expression now fading into a sort of dread. 

"What happened?"

Ron scuffed at the ground with one foot, and then kicked it. He didn't feel better. "She was drunk. Somebody spiked the punch."

Harry looked from the punch table, back to Ron. "Hermione was drunk?" he said incredulously. 

"Yeah. And as soon as she realised what she was doing, she stopped and ran off."

"She stopped kissing you?"

"Yeah."  
Harry paused, eyes on his feet. "Well, were you kissing her back?"

Ron flushed again. "Of course," he said, in a strangled kind of way. 

"That's something, then."

There was a brief silence, and then Ron couldn't contain himself. 

"She doesn't like me, Harry."

"Ron …"

"You didn't see her," Ron said, speaking over him. "You didn't see her face. She looked – she just looked – so – dismayed."

"Dismayed?"

It was the right word. "Dismayed," he repeated. "She doesn't want me."

"You can't know that for sure," Harry said, but Ron was shaking his head. 

"I'm going to bed." 

"Don't do that."

"What else am I going to do?" he said, rather angrily. "My partner's not here, is she?"

"Neither is mine," Harry protested, but even as he spoke, Ginny came back down the staircase. Ron gave him a look, and Harry raised his hands helplessly.

"Fine. If you want to go to bed, go. Tell me about it properly tomorrow."

Ron muttered something and moved off. One part of him wanted to run up to Ginny, grab her by the shoulders, and ask if Hermione was alright. The other part wanted to get out of there as soon as he could, and maybe never see Hermione again. 

~

He didn't sleep well. In fact, he didn't sleep. He lay in bed with his curtains drawn, listening to the empty dorm, unable to stop himself replaying the scene in his head. The skin on her cheek – he'd never touched that before. Her taste. The sound of her breath so close. It was all so clear, all technicolour, like his nerves were on fire. 

And every time the memory played out, he felt a hard clutch of his stomach as he saw her run away from him. 

Why did she run away from him?

He considered the options. 

1) She didn't like him in _that _way, and it was just a stupid, drunken stumble.

2) She'd been feeling too sick to stay. This would be handy if true, but he was pretty sure it wasn't that. 

      3)   Maybe he hadn't been … well… good.

He turned over and frowned. He'd never really kissed a girl like that before. There'd never been anyone he'd really wanted to. Sure, there were _pretty _girls around, and he liked them – but sort of in the same way that everybody likes dessert. In a general, natural kind of way. 

But kissing Hermione – that was better than just dessert. That was like whipped cream and cheesecake, with chocolate sundae on the side. 

And the thought he was skirting around was that maybe he was just no good at kissing. Maybe he'd mucked it up. It had felt pretty good to him – but from her side of things, he supposed it could have been a whole different quidditch game. 

There was a light knock on the dormitory door and he sat up. 

"Harry?"

"It's me," said Ginny, "can I come in?"

She was already stepping inside; Ron could hear her feet on the floor. After a brief pause, he pulled his curtains aside, and couldn't stop himself asking: 

"Is she OK?"

"Who?"

He gave her a look and she came closer to his bed. "Yes, she's fine. A bit sick. She crashed almost right away. Is it just me, or –"

"The punch was spiked."

"Ah. Thought so."

"The guy said he was going to tell everyone, and I believed him. Merlin, I'm so stupid. I'm _stupid._" He threw himself back down on his pillow, and Ginny sat on the edge of her bed. She was silent for a few moments.

"She cried, you know," she said then, and Ron sat up again. 

"What?"

"She was crying. Do you know anything about that?"

_My God_, he thought, _it must've really been bad. _

"No, I – I don't know – why –" 

He stopped at the expression on her face. 

"What happened?" she asked gently, but Ron didn't want to be gentled. 

"Everyone keeps asking that. Bloody hell. I don't know. It's none of your business."

"Fine," she said, standing, and he immediately felt like the worst kind of rubbish. 

"No, wait," he sighed. 

She waited, hands on her hips. "What?" she said archly. "Going to be rude again?"

"No. I'm sorry. I just – we kissed, OK?"

Short silence. 

"You kissed her?"

"No."

"She kissed you?"

"Yeah."

Ginny broke into a grin. "Brave girl."

"She ran off afterwards. She hated it."

"What do you mean, hated it?"

"I don't know," he said, ears hot. "She was embarrassed. She – maybe I'm just a shite kisser."

And then, unable to believe he'd said this to his little sister, he dropped back onto the bed and put his pillow over his face. She pulled it off him. 

"I'm sure there's an explanation," she said reasonably. "I'll talk to her."

Ron bit his lip. "You will?"

"Sure."

"You'll figure out what's wrong?"

"If I can."

He exhaled heavily. "OK. OK, thanks."

"Or you could just ask her yourself."

"No!" he exclaimed. "Merlin, I don't even know how I'm going to look at her anymore. I think – I don't think she likes me. I think that's what it's about."

"Don't go jumping to conclusions," she said sternly. "Not yet."  
He nodded mutely. It hurt his chest when he thought about Hermione. He tried not to. 

"So," he said with an effort, changing the subject, "how's your night been?"

"Not bad," she said vaguely. 

"Harry a good partner?"

"Really good. He's down in the common room waiting for me."

"I saw you two dancing. You seemed – comfortable."

"Shut up," she said, laughing a little. She looked at him sideways. "Just say," she began casually, "I don't know, just say someone you knew started dating me … would that bother you?"

Ron pretended to think. "Yes," he said finally, "it would bother me. A lot."

"Oh." 

She looked a bit downcast, and he nudged her with his knee.

"If you're talking about Harry," he said plainly, "I'm OK with that."  
She flushed. "Right," she said, and stood.

"Has he asked?"

She shrugged with one shoulder and smiled a bit. "No. But he's got this look on his face – like he's working up the courage or something. I don't know. He probably just wants to talk about the next game."

"Now, now," Ron chided lightly, "don't go jumping to conclusions."  
Ginny smiled. "It'll all work out with Hermione, you know."  
_Hermione. _Abruptly, vividly, he felt her lips on his again, and couldn't meet Gin's eye. 

"'Night," he said. 

"'Night," she replied, after a pause. "I'll talk to her."

"OK."  
She left, and he pulled the curtains into place. Sometimes he thought how weird it was to talk to Gin like this, like a friend – but they were close these days. And she was one of those people who, when you were in conversation with her, you felt like you could trust her with your secrets. 

He wondered if she and Harry talked like that.

He wondered if she and Hermione did. 

He still didn't sleep.

~

Ron rose late the next morning, a Saturday. He could hear Harry turning over in bed, and Dean snoring quietly behind closed curtains, and when he went downstairs to the common room, it was full of sleepy, sore-headed Gryffindors, discarded corsages and empty cups. 

"My God," Seamus moaned from an armchair by the fireplace. "I feel like my brains have been stomped on and then put back in through my ear-holes."

"Let's hope McGonagall doesn't find out about the bloody punch," Ron said grimly, passing by. "Coming to breakfast?"

Seamus didn't reply. He presumed that was a no, and went by himself. 

The first person he saw in the Hall was Hermione, looking strained and pale-faced, but clearly making an effort to appear normal. She had a plate of eggs and toast in front of her, but wasn't eating anything. She was just fiddling with her fork. 

As soon as he saw her – the hair gone wild again, her eyes tired – he wanted to run away. He felt angry and nervous and sick, and everything else mixed-up. But before he could move, she'd seen him, and gestured for him to join her. 

His feet seemed to move of their own accord towards the Gryffindor table. _He _certainly had nothing to do with it. He sat beside her and they said nothing for a half-minute while he automatically piled up a plate.

"Hi," she said then, rather hoarsely. 

He avoided her eye. "Hi," he managed. "How are you?"

"I'm fine." 

He glanced at her, unable to stop himself. She was staring at her plate, and her cheeks were reddening. 

"Good," he replied. Not knowing what else to do, he started breakfast. Hermione still didn't eat.

"Ron," she said, after about ten minutes. By then he'd finished, and was downing a glass of orange juice. "Ron, can I talk to you?"

Something jumped inside of him, and then sunk very low. Was this going to be a good or a bad talk?

"Alright," he croaked. 

"D'you want to go outside?"

"Alright."

"Now?"

"Alright."  
Hermione stood, and he wished that he could find another word besides 'alright'. She led the way out of the Great Hall, and into morning light. It was quite cool, and he was shivering in just a T-shirt and jeans. They didn't go to the same spot as last night, thank God. She walked out onto the grass instead, and he followed until she turned. She seemed to be composing herself, but her fingers were fidgeting nervously. 

"I – well, I wanted to talk about – last night," she began. 

"Right," said Ron. "We probably should."

"Right. Thank you for looking after me when I was sick."

"The punch was spiked," Ron explained, glad to be able to provide some information, but she already knew. 

"Yeah," she said, making a bit of a face. "Ginny told me. Silly me, hey?"

"You weren't to know," he said quietly, eyes on his feet. He couldn't maintain that for long, and looked up at her. She was stroking her ponytail again, in that way she had when she was thinking. 

"Do you remember what happened – outside?" he said impulsively, and she nodded. 

"I remember." She shook her head, and glanced at him. "Sorry."

"Sorry," he repeated. 

She went on shaking her head – she seemed angry with herself. "I was so stupid. Drinking all that punch. I _should_ have known, and I should have done something about it, and I hate being out of my own control like that. And I think I did something stupid – that might have – affected the way we see each other – and I don't want that – because of something stupid –"

The word echoed in his head. _Stupid. _Hermione stumbled on.

"I just, I feel like I imposed on you, and ruined your night. I'm so embarrassed. I – I made a fool of myself. I'm sorry," she finished miserably. 

_You didn't make a fool of yourself, _whispered a voice in his head. _I wanted you to kiss me. I wanted to kiss you. _

"You didn't ruin my night," he said instead, awkwardly. "It was good."

"We didn't even dance."

"No. But – you know, I'm not much of a dancer."

"I'm just so embarrassed," she said again, with another quick, desperate glance at him. "I can't believe I did that."

"It's alright." His voice sounded dull in his own ears. 

They stood in silence for too long, and then Hermione, quite unexpectedly, held out her small hand. 

"We're still friends, aren't we?" she said, almost urgently.

_I can't bear it, _he thought.

"Of course," he replied. He took her hand in his, shook it, and released it as quickly as possible. He didn't want to think about the way her skin felt, or her hands, or anything. 

"Good," she said, sighing shakily. "I was – sort of afraid I'd ruined everything."

"No. You didn't."

"Good. I'm glad." She hesitated. "Thank you for being my partner."

He wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her so much – but after all she'd said, how could he possibly? She didn't want him, she was only his friend, and that was the beginning and end of it. 

"Thank you for being mine," he replied, as evenly as he could. 

"Oi!" came a voice from the Great Hall doorway. It was Harry, Ginny behind him. "Want to go flying?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah!" he shouted. "Hang on." 

"I won't," called Hermione. She shrugged ruefully at Ron. "Work."

"OK," he said. "Well – good luck."

"Thanks."  
And with that, he turned his back on her, and walked across the lawn to Harry. 

It was like they'd come full circle, and gone right back to the beginning again, back to how things used to be before he knew how he really felt about her. It left a strange, heavy feeling in his stomach.

He supposed he'd just have to get used to it.


	13. In Anger

A/N: I know!!! The frustration's even getting to me! I just want to lock them in a bedroom somewhere and wait for them to work out their differences!! 

Then again, what's any fanfic without prolonged sexual tension, where the characters go back and forth until you just want to shout at the screen? (*ahem* LavenderBrown, does The JohnsonWeasley Story ring any bells there?? *grin*) … ~be good to your daughters~ Shez … PS – Again, sorry about the wait. Even fanfic writers have to sleep. :)

~

The next fortnight passed incredibly slowly for Ron. It felt more like a whole year. He was tireder than usual, crankier, worn out, wanting to leave school, wanting to hide in his room and brood. He felt a bit sick, actually. He had to keep stopping himself from snapping at people. 

Harry noticed, but said little about it. Every now and again he'd ask if Ron was alright, and Ron would just grunt. 

He wasn't alright, but what could Harry do about it? He'd just have to grit his teeth and go on. 

That was easier said than done, particularly when he had to look at Hermione every day and pretend that things were OK. He didn't see as much of her as usual. She found excuses to go the library right after meals, and rarely came into the common room. When she did, it was with a pile of books. He hardly spoke to her, and when he did, it was brief and awkward. 

In some ways, he was glad that she wasn't around. 

In others, it made him feel a bit desperate.

It was so strange. He couldn't stand to see her, and he couldn't stand not to. Whenever he saw someone with curly, brown hair, he was torn between running the other way and pushing forward to tap them on the shoulder, to check if it was her. He couldn't remember what she smelt like exactly, and spent almost twenty minutes in Divination just trying to bring the memory back.

In the simplest terms, he missed her. He wished that he didn't – it would be easier in all respects – but he did, and that was that. 

At one point he managed to corner Ginny on her way to a class. 

"I have to get to Potions," she said, even as he pulled her into a nearby, empty classroom. 

"It's OK. Tell Snape you were with me."

"Oh yes," said Ginny, rolling her eyes, "because he just loves_ you_."

He ignored this.

"Have you spoken to Hermione?"

"A couple of days ago."

"What did she say?"

"Lots."

"Did she tell you what she said to me?"

"Yes. She was worried."

"'Bout what?"

"That you wouldn't be friends, I think."

"She was embarrassed."

"I don't think she was embarrassed about you," Ginny said impatiently. "I think it was about being drunk. She thinks she's made an idiot of herself."

"She hasn't."

His sister wriggled away from him and out the door. "So tell her that," she called back to him.

Ginny always said things as though the world was clear-cut – you do it, or you don't. It wasn't like that for Ron. He could still see Hermione's face in his mind's eye, telling him she'd made a mistake, telling him she was _sorry_ they'd kissed. She said it herself, explained it herself. She sounded like she meant it.

So days passed, and he didn't say anything to her, but missed her more, and grew steadily moodier.

On the second Saturday after the Hallowe'en Ball, Ron woke relatively early, and made his weary way down to the Great Hall. They had a quidditch game today (the one they'd meant to have a week ago, postponed due to problems with the pitch and the weather), and he wasn't in the mood. He wasn't in the mood for anything much. 

Again, Hermione was at the Gryffindor table, with just a few others. He'd noticed she hadn't been at breakfast with them recently, and suspected she was getting up early in order to avoid him. 

He sat beside her, knowing that he had to because they were 'friends', but knowing that it wasn't the same as before either.

"Morning," she replied, eyes fixed on her plate. "Sleep well?"

"Fine thanks. How about you?"

"Not bad."

"Good."

They ate in silence for five minutes. Ron realised that this was the longest time he'd spent alone with her since the Ball.

"So I was thinking," Hermione said suddenly, "that maybe we should do another tutorial sometime this week."

Ron chewed on his eggs, stalling for time. When it was clear that he'd have to speak, he swallowed. 

"Right," he said. 

"Because – well, things haven't really been the same lately," she continued in a rush, glancing quickly at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her tuck her hair behind her ear, pushing bacon around on her plate with her fork. 

"Right," he said again. 

"I don't like it," said Hermione lowly. "I just – I want things to go back to normal."

"Well – so do I," Ron managed. "I want that too."

"And I thought maybe if we spent some time together –"

Ron knew no matter how much time they spent together, it wouldn't be the same, and couldn't bear for her to go on.

"Alright," he said abruptly. "Sure. Tutorial. What about Monday night?"

"Monday night? OK. We'll do some Potions."

"Fine. Sure."

"Good," she said, sounding relieved. "I'm glad. I haven't seen much of you these past weeks."

"I haven't seen much of you," he pointed out, taking another mouthful of breakfast.

She flushed. "I had a lot of work to do," she muttered, and then looked up as Harry and Ginny came into the Great Hall. "I don't know what's happening with those two," she said, with forced cheerfulness. "Are they together?"

"Don't know. Don't think so. Not officially."

"You should tell Harry to ask."

"Harry doesn't really listen to me," Ron said bluntly. He hated that he was being rude to her, but the way she was pretending things were like they always were – like they could ever go back to the way it was – well, it frustrated him.

Hermione frowned and seemed about to say something to him when Harry and Ginny sat down. 

"Morning," Ginny said, with an explosive exhale. "I'm spent."

"Already?" teased Harry. 

"Hey, just because I'm a quidditch goddess doesn't mean I don't get puffed on the stairs. And speaking of quidditch – ready for the game Ronny?"

"Yep," he muttered. 

Ginny laughed a little and poked him. "Who took the Chudley out of _your _Cannons?" she said, then stopped when Harry gave her a 'don't ask' look. "What?"

"Er – what would you like?" Harry said. 

"I can get my own breakfast."  
She picked up her plate, and he took it from her, gently. 

"It's alright," he said. "I want to. I'm getting mine anyway. Tell me what you want."

Ginny looked at him a moment and then shook her head. "OK," she said, smiling. "French toast, please, and fruit."

"That all?"

"Yes, thanks."

He piled up both their plates, and then placed hers in front of her. 

"When's the game start?" Hermione asked after a little while. She'd finished her breakfast by now, and was lining up her cutlery. 

"10 o'clock. Thought we ought to try and get a bit of warm-up done beforehand. You up for it, Ron?"

"Sure," he said dully. 

Harry pressed on, pretending not to notice.  

"Right, good," he said. "I'll slaughter Seamus if he's not here soon." A brief pause while he took a few bites of toast. "Coming to the game, 'Mione?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"It's going to be excellent," Ginny said, mouth full. Harry grinned at her, but didn't protest her manners. "We're going to beat Hufflepuff hands down."

"Don't say that," Harry interjected. "You'll curse us."

Ginny waved her fork at him. "You know it's true. Their Seeker's nothing compared to you."

"Their Chasers don't really measure up either." 

"Shut up," Ginny said archly. "No compliments before breakfast."

"During breakfast."

"Shut up," she repeated. "Don't make me smack you."

"Ooh, I'm scared," Harry grinned, and she elbowed him, hard. 

For some reason, all of this made Ron feel crankier than before. 

"Merlin, get a room," he snapped, standing. 

Harry and Ginny both froze, staring at him. Even Hermione turned her gaze upward to examine his face. 

"What did you say?" Harry asked then, sounding stunned. He glanced at Ginny uncomfortably, and then at Ron.

"Nothing," Ron sighed. "Look, I'll see you down on the pitch.

He walked out, feelings their eyes on his back. He was so tense, that he wanted to hit something.

~

"What the fuck are you playing at?" said Harry angrily, coming down the stairs to the change room a quarter of an hour later. His voice rang against the walls and echoed. Ron shrugged into his quidditch gear, and didn't reply. 

Harry reached the bottom of the stairs and came in, striding right up to Ron. 

"Hey," he said sharply. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Ron muttered, sitting down to pull on his shoes. 

"Rubbish, it was nothing. You embarrassed Ginny."

"No, I embarrassed _you_," Ron returned. "That's what's made you so snotty."

"I'm not snotty," said Harry, hands on his hips. "And yeah, you did embarrass me. We were just mucking around. What's wrong with you anyway?"

"What's wrong with _you_? Why don't you just ask her out?"

Harry reddened, and found voice a few moments later. "That's none of your business. And you're the one who was saying how hard it was to ask Hermione."

Ron gave him a look, and Harry's angry expression faded into a sort of exasperated sympathy. "Sorry," he said, sitting heavily. "Sorry. Just you've been in the worst mood recently, and – I don't know."

"Can't help it," Ron said shortly. "I want to. I just can't."

"Well – try," Harry suggested, rather helplessly. "I need the old Ron back if I'm going to play a decent game today. And don't go – you know, saying that stuff again. It just makes me nervous, alright? I mean – I will ask her – I think I'll ask her – I just –"

He trailed off, and then continued hurriedly, standing again. "We should get out there before the Hufflepuffs arrive."

Several pairs of feet could be heard on the opposite staircase, leading into the girls' change room, and Ron presumed the female team members had arrived. Harry moved to put on his uniform himself, and soon they were all heading out on to the pitch, warming up on their broomsticks with gentle swoops and dives. Some time later, Harry called them down for the requisite pre-game pep-talk. Ron wasn't really listening. He was, despite himself, scanning the slowly gathering crowd. 

Halfway down the hill, he spotted Hermione, rugged up in a coat and scarf against the November chill. Beside her was Malfoy, in a long, dark green jacket. It appeared that they'd come down from the castle together. 

He looked away quickly, feeling the anger (which had cooled a little) beginning to build again. Bloody _Malfoy._ It seemed like every time Ron felt like shit, Malfoy was there to make him feel shittier still. He looked back – they were separating to go to their different House stands, but that didn't make him feel any better. He hated that Hermione could talk to Malfoy, and not to him. 

Would she _rather_ talk to Malfoy than to him? 

"Ron," Harry said, and he started. 

"What?"

"I said, you'll have to watch out for Simpson. He's been very quick with the quaffle recently, and you might have a job keeping an eye on him."

"I'll be fine," Ron said, and Harry shrugged. 

"OK. Just warning you."

Ron didn't want his warnings. He didn't want to play either. He wanted to go back to bed, or maybe home to the Burrow. 

Plus, he still wanted to hit something – specifically, Malfoy's head – and that was his major thought as he sailed up to the goals at 10 o'clock.

It was the beginning of his worst game of the last two years. 

Harry was right, Simpson _was_ fast, but usually it wouldn't have been much of a problem. Today, he wasn't thinking rationally. He lurched for the ball whenever he could, and Simpson just slipped it past him. He missed easy saves, stuffed the harder ones completely, and almost ran into a goal post when his eyes wandered to the Gryffindor stand, and found her wild hair. 

To make matters worse, it was freezing and the air smelt of upcoming rain. Sure enough, after almost an hour (with Gryffindor behind 100 points), it began to drizzle.

When the drizzle turned into a downpour, Ron let out a groan of frustration as another fast Quaffle sped by him. 

"What's wrong with you?" Harry shouted, circling past. 

"I'm trying!" Ron shouted back, and Harry made a 'no excuses' gesture at him. 

"You're _not_ trying," he said, sounding very frustrated. "That's the bloody problem. Think_, _for God's sake. Focus."

"Shove off, Harry," Ron bellowed, and then Harry was dropping suddenly, his eyes fixed on some distant point. Ron didn't understand at first, but then it clicked – he'd seen the Snitch, thank Merlin, and was heading for it. 

The Hufflepuff Seeker didn't even spot him in the rain, and it was a swift and easy catch. Harry hit the ground, little winged ball in hand, grinning triumphantly as Madame Hooch blew her whistle. 

The Gryffindor team followed their captain, Ron (who had the farthest to come) close behind.

Ginny was the first to hit Harry. She dropped her broom and ran up, throwing her arms around him. He looked taken aback at first, but then put his arms around her too, and hugged her hard. Ron landed and came closer with the rest of the team, who were forming a circle around the two. They were all shouting and cheering, and even Ron had a bit of a smile on his face. Winning quidditch could do that to you. 

"You did it," Ginny said breathlessly, even as the Gryffindor players slapped each other on the back, laughing, giddy with triumph and the roars of the crowd. 

"I know," Harry said. "We won."  
They smiled at each other for a long moment, and then he leant forward and kissed her quickly. When he pulled back, Ginny bit her lip, and pushed wet hair out of her eyes. 

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, she put her hands on either side of his face and was kissing _him_. It was a few seconds before the rest of the team realised what was going on, but when they did, there was a burst of spontaneous laughter, whistles and catcalls. 

Ron, feeling weirded out and somehow suddenly upset, looked away.   

His eyes found Malfoy. He was standing at the edge of the pitch, arms folded over his chest, and Hermione was standing with him. A bubble of anger rose from his stomach to his chest, and this time it couldn't be suppressed. His long legs took him over to them at a half-run – Hermione was calling her congratulations before he'd even reached her. 

"Well done, Ron!" she said happily. 

He didn't reply, focussed, for the moment, on Malfoy. 

"Malfoy," he said. "What are you doing here?"

Malfoy looked briefly at Hermione, whose smile was fading, and then at Ron. 

"Watching the quidditch, Weasley. Nice game you played."

"Don't get smart with me," Ron snarled. "Who do you think you are anyway?"

"Ah – I'm not sure what you mean."

"You _know _what I mean."

"No, I don't," he said loudly. "What are you on about?"

"Ron, what are you doing?" Hermione protested, and her voice only made him feel angrier. 

"I don't trust you, Malfoy."

"Yes, you've said," Malfoy returned coolly. 

"I don't trust you with Hermione. Always wandering around together. And the Yule Ball – what was that?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, with that Malfoy arrogance that always made him want to pull out the guy's hair. Ron prodded his chest. 

"Stay away from her."

"Don't tell me what to do."

"I'll tell you what I like."

"For God's sake, Weasley, you're not the girl's keeper."

"No, you're not," Hermione interjected tightly. 

Ron finally met her eye. She was red-faced – with embarrassment or rage, he wasn't sure which – but he didn't feel guilty. He felt frustrated and jealous and angry – at Malfoy, at himself, at her. With an effort, he stopped himself saying any more, and looked at his feet.

"I need to talk to you," Hermione said eventually, through gritted teeth. "Sorry Malfoy."

"Don't worry about it. See you tonight."

"Bye."

Malfoy walked briskly away, and Hermione took hold of his arm, dragging him into the corridor through which the Hufflepuff's came up from the change room to the pitch.

"What was _that_?" she demanded, releasing his arm. 

"I don't know."

"You don't _know_? That's not good enough, Ron Weasley! What's the matter with you, anyway? You've been in a terrible mood for weeks, and you keep on taking it out on us. And I want you to stop."

"Sorry," he muttered. 

"Don't say sorry! Tell me why! Tell me what's _wrong_ with you, for Merlin's sake!"

And with those words, something snapped inside his head. 

"You want to know what's wrong with me?" he said furiously. "I'll bloody tell you! I like you, OK? I like you like crazy. And you _kissed_ me at the Hallowe'en Ball, and then took it back and pretended like it didn't mean anything. You can't do that, and act like things should be just the way they used to be, like we can just do your little tutorials as though nothing's happened. Things are never going to go back to the way they used to be. They can't. I can't. And I hate Malfoy because he gets to see more of you than I ever do, and you talk to him, and maybe you like him, and I can hardly stand it, OK?"

There was a long silence while he tried to find breath, staring at her, aware of his uncomfortably wet quidditch robes and fast-beating heart. She had her eyes on her feet, and stood very still. 

The enormity of what he'd just admitted hit him with sudden force, and his throat dried out. He wanted to fall into the ground, or maybe hide in the Shrieking Shack for the rest of his life. 

But at the same time, he wanted to hear what she said. Needed to. Desperately. 

"'Mione," he said hoarsely, coming a step closer to her. Was she trembling? It was cold in this dark tunnel, but he didn't think it was that. His anger was fading into – what? Hope? Fear? God, he had no idea. He wanted to touch her, more than anything, and put a hand on her arm. 

Seamus stumbled in, shouting at the top of his voice. 

"Oi! Macmillan! Macmillan?"

He saw Ron and Hermione, and smiled obliviously at them both. 

"Hello," he said. "Seen Ernie?"

And the moment was lost, and Hermione was slipping past him, past Seamus, and outside again. Ron clenched his fists in frustration and dropped his head. 

Well, he'd told her. And look how much good it had done him.

"Something the matter?" Seamus asked innocently. 

Ron slapped him over the head as he left, but didn't explain what he'd interrupted. He didn't think he'd be able to explain to anybody, not even Ginny. He felt too raw himself – in disbelief that he'd said it, in agony at her utter silence. 

He was soon swept up in the crowd of Gryffindors leaving the pitch. He just didn't real feel as though he was with them.

-- 

A/N: Expect happier things soon. I'll do my best to get it out there asap. I hate that I'm keeping you waiting, life is crazy right now :( … give me a week, and I'll be sweet again. ~Shez


	14. An Admittance

A/N: My giddy aunt, so embarrassed! Mr/Ms Anonymous, thank you! They were at the HALLOWE'EN BALL not the YULE BALL, in case anyone was confused by my blunders in the previous chapter (now fixed). I just wrote the chap in such a rush, and the two events kind of became synonymous in my mind…. ~98n6~ Shez … A note to JWBean – me? like John Mayer? I don't know how you would have got that impression. *wink*

~

Ron spent most of the day on his own. He didn't know where Harry and Ginny had gotten to after the game, and wasn't sure that he'd have wanted to join them anyway. He didn't think the conversation would be too stimulating. He couldn't go the library, in case Hermione was there, and in the end collected his books (yes, his school books, on a _Saturday)_, and went to sit by the lake. 

He actually got quite a bit of work done, considering. For a few hours, at least, he was able to push Hermione from his mind and focus on something practical, something that worked with your mind and your logic. It was a relief, to some degree. 

A Defence essay, Care of Magical Creatures practical write-up and a Divination prediction later, the sun was easing away on the horizon. Very reluctantly, he packed up his things and headed for the castle. By the time he got there the day had packed it in completely, and it was cold twilight. 

He managed to spend a couple of quiet hours in the Gryffindor dorm, reading an old quidditch annual, before Harry came thudding up the stairs and burst into the room. He went directly to Ron's bed, pulled back the curtains, and grinned at him, breathless. 

"Coming down?" he asked. 

"Coming down where?"

"Victory party. Common room. Come on."

Ron resisted the urge to face the other way. "I don't deserve to be part of the victory party," he mumbled. "I played like shite."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh for God's sake, it doesn't matter. We pulled through, didn't we? You don't have to sulk. We want you there." He paused. "Hermione's not coming, if that's what you're worried about. What's happening with you two? Did you fight again?"

Ron didn't say anything for a moment. 

"Hermione might not be there," he said then, "but Ginny will. I won't have anyone to talk to."

Harry flushed a deep red, and then waved a hand at him. "Fine," he said. "Do what you like. There's food from the kitchens and everything, I got it myself."

He made to leave, and Ron frowned to himself. Harry was right. He didn't like sulking, and he didn't really like being by himself either. He decided he'd just go and see what it was like (see if he got pelted with Every-Flavour Beans, more like), and then decide whether or not to stay. 

When he came down the stairs there was a general roar from the crowd and he was almost knocked over by a sudden rush of Gryffindors, all patting him on the back and shouting their congratulations. He managed to squeeze through them, and craned his neck to see the rest of the room. There were tables full of food and drink, courtesy of eager house-elves, and he could see various members of the team lolling about, lapping up the praise. For some reason, this party seemed bigger than their last win's had been. Maybe because this particular game had looked desperate from the beginning. 

Because of him. Right. 

He sighed, went to a food table, ate an éclair, didn't feel much better. 

Ginny and Harry were sitting on a couch by the fire. They were holding hands, their fingers enlaced – Ron could see it from where he stood. They didn't seem to be saying much. Ginny looked happy, in a quiet, comfortable sort of way. Ron thought he might as well go over and say hello. 

"Hi," he said when he reached them. 

Harry looked like he might release her hand for a moment, but Ginny squeezed his, and he didn't. 

"Er – hi Ron," he said. "You came."

"Yeah, I did."

Ginny eyed him. "You didn't play all that well today, did you?" she said frankly.

"Gee, thanks. My self-esteem just shot through the roof," he retorted. __

_Oh, who am I kidding? _he thought, almost immediately afterwards, and dropped the sarcasm. 

"OK, you're right," he said. "I played spectacularly badly. Sorry."

"A Weasley man admitting he was wrong – sort of." She shook her head in mock disbelief. "I never thought I'd see the day."  
Harry grinned and leant back against the couch. "Come sit, Ron," he said, and then it was Ron's turn to shake his head. 

"Ah – no thanks," he said. "You two look busy."  
Harry flushed and Ginny flushed, and then they looked at each other and laughed. Ron started to walk away, and Ginny called out to him. 

"Ron, hang on. If you want Hermione, she's up in her room. Said she didn't feel well. She could probably do with a bit of company."

"Oh, I – I can't," he began hastily, and Ginny looked quite sternly at him. She reminded him of their mother. 

"Poor 'Mione is all alone in her room when we're all here …"

"She's probably got bloody Malfoy with her," he interrupted, coming back again, and Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Shut it, Ron. You're the only one who thinks she spends time with Malfoy for any reason beyond the fact that they're Heads together, and she's trying to be nice. She feels sorry for him. His mum's dead, his dad's a loony, and he has to live with people like you who'll never see him as anything but 'that Slytherin prat'."

Ron felt a swell of guilt rise up in his throat – it was entirely unfamiliar, particularly when in regards to Malfoy.

"I – that's not fair," he protested weakly. Ginny opened her mouth, and Harry cut in quickly.

"You know what, let's not argue," he said quietly. "Not tonight."

Ginny's expression visibly softened. "Right," she said. "Fine. Not tonight."  
And they were so focussed on one another again that Ron felt patently unwelcome, and backed off. 

He paced the common room for half an hour. 

Then the Creeveys (including Dennis, who didn't appear to hold a grudge about being cut from the team) cornered him for a while, and gave him a play-by-play of the game. 

Then Lavender managed to get hold of him and bat her eyelids a few more times, before Dean Thomas came up.

Then he considered going to sit with Harry and Ginny again, but decided against it almost immediately as Ginny's words rang out again in his head. 

_Go see Hermione._  
Could he? 

_No, _he thought firmly, grabbing a glass of pumpkin juice from the drinks table. _No, I can't. What would I say? What will she say?_

_You should, _said another voice. _You should see what she thinks about what you said._

_I know what she thinks._

_No you don't._

_I can guess. _

But you can't be sure. And she's all alone in her room, and she doesn't fancy Mafloy – 

Maybe Ginny's wrong.

For Merlin's sake, go and find out for yourself. 

"You right?" said a voice. It was Seamus, cocking an eyebrow at him, and Ron's ears went bright red when he realised he'd been having an argument with himself like a crazy person. 

"Er – fine," he muttered. "I'm fine."  
Somehow, his mind was made up.

He was going to go and find Hermione.

Right now.

He took a long swig of pumpkin juice (as though this would sustain him in some way) and then slammed the glass down on the table. 

"Well," Seamus said admiringly. "You look purposeful."

Ron didn't reply. He walked directly out of the common room instead, in the direction of the Head Students' quarters. 

~

He went up her stairs very quietly, trying to maintain that certainty he'd felt a few minutes ago. It seemed to be fading the closer he came to her, but he held onto what determination he had left as best he could. 

The first thing he saw was her door, slightly ajar as always. 

The second thing was Malfoy's door, glowing with another Impervious Charm. Good. No matter how many personal problems Malfoy might have, Ron still didn't want him around.

He approached her room slowly, feeling his pulse throbbing in his head. He didn't know what he was going to say to her, but now that he was here, mostly just wanted to see her face. He missed her again – and he was pretty sure it was because she'd been so constantly in his thoughts. 

Directly outside her door, he stopped, raised a fist to knock – 

And then felt his courage desert him entirely. 

He couldn't. He couldn't do it. Not after what she'd said, what he'd said, her silence, his idiocy, and why was he standing here anyway?

Just as he was about to make a quick escape, the door swung open from the inside, and Hermione was standing there looking at him.

"Hi," she said. 

"Hi," he said. She was wearing pyjamas, and her hair was up, and she looked so lovely that his heart leapt into his mouth. 

There was a long, long silence. 

"Come in," she said, and opened the door all the way. 

He paused, and then did so. She shut the door behind him, and turned so that her back was against it. He faced her, a few metres away. He caught the Hermione-scent he'd been trying to remember all week, and any great words he might have had dried up. 

"How's the party?" she asked eventually.

"Good."

"How're Ginny and Harry?"

"Er – happy."

"How're you?"

A brief pause. 

How was he?

"I feel like shit," he admitted lowly, unable to look at her. 

Another pause, and then he felt her move closer. 

"Don't swear," she said softly. "What's the matter?"

"I – I went off at Malfoy. Sorry."

"Why don't you apologise to him?"

"I – can't."

"Why?"

"I don't know. And I wanted to see you, anyway."

The silence that followed this seemed agonisingly long. His eyes could not move from his feet. She was closer again, he felt that. 

"Why don't you look up, then?" she said.

"Hermione …"

"Look up."

Unable to resist her, he did so, but now she wasn't looking at him. 

"Did I make a fool of myself at the Ball?" 

"No," he protested urgently. "No, you didn't."

"I was drunk. I – I kissed you. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise," he said fiercely. "Don't apologise for that."

Now she met his eye, and his heart was thudding so hard that he didn't know how it was still in his body, and suddenly he was brave again, and the words he had been wanting to say for weeks came out.

"'Mione," he said hoarsely, "when you kissed me, it was the best moment of my whole life. When you ran away – that was the worst moment, OK? I – what I said today – I meant it, and I just – I have to know – if you –"  

He trailed off, incoherent with urgency, his whole body tense with anticipation. He couldn't read her expression and Merlin, he wanted to.

"You stupid prat," she said eventually, voice trembling. He felt his stomach turn over, and wanted to run out of the room. He should have known …

"That's OK," he muttered, but she spoke over him.

"You stupid prat," she repeated. "Of course I do."

And with that, she threw herself at him, her arms around his neck slender and warm, feeling her breath on his skin. He held her, incredulous, unsure of what had just happened. Did she – were they –

"What did you say?" he said in her ear, and she pulled back a little to look him in the face. 

"I'm sorry I didn't say before. I was – I don't know, I was scared. I didn't think you liked me, anymore, after the Ball. I mean, I thought you did before. Maybe. And then I thought – you might think I was – I don't know, a slag, or an idiot or something – and then you said today – and then I didn't know what to say back – and then –"

She stopped speaking with an effort, and he broke into a wide smile. 

"Right," he breathed. "Wow."

She bit her lip and ducked her head a little, arms still around him, and he slid his hands from her back to her waist, loving that he could touch her like this. She leant into him, and there was a long silence while they held each other, savouring this moment, storing it up. Ron felt a sharp, clear understanding that this was a point they could not turn back from, and in his mind's eye saw the way they used to be fading slowly into memory. 

There would be no circling this time. 

"Hermione," he said after a while, and she lifted her head from his shoulder. 

"Yes?"

He swallowed. "Could I kiss you, please?"

"Alright," she replied quietly, and he leant forward to touch her lips with his. It was different from last time – last time _she_ kissed _him_, and it was sort of desperate. This time he didn't feel that sense of borrowed moments, and it was soft and deliberate and sweet. 

"Merlin," she said, when he pulled away from her. "OK."

"When you kissed me at the Ball," he replied, "I think that was the second-best moment of my life."

She smiled slowly, and tilted her head to one side.

"Do that again," she said. 

He did. 

~

*contented sigh*

Happy?

I am. 

*even more contented sigh*

~nm3x5s~ Shez


	15. Small Talk

A/N: Not even close to finished! Thanks for reviews, poppets, they're the Guns in my Roses … ~nm3x5s~ Shez… PS – JWBean, you clearly share my quoting-John obsession. Feel free to do so whenever you like. Hehe. PPS – Sorry this chap took so long, it was like pulling teeth, plus I've barely breathed the past two days. Everything ought to let up soon, so bear with me, OK? ~I'll be around~ S. 

~

Some time later, they were sitting on her bed, cross-legged and facing one another. Ron was holding her hand, quite sure that he wouldn't be able to let go any time soon, and still reeling from the shock of it all. 

"This is weird, isn't it?"  

"No, it's – it's lovely," said Hermione, reddening a little, and Ron couldn't suppress a wide smile. "Yeah. It is. Weird and lovely. Can't believe you put me through all of that …"

"_I _put you through all of that?" she said, nudging him with a bare foot. "You're the one who didn't even know I was a girl until fourth year."

"I knew you were a girl," he protested. "I did."

"OK, OK," she conceded, and paused, as though wondering whether she should ask this next. "When did you realise –"

"What, that I fancied you?"

She nodded briefly.

"Er – before the ball," he mumbled, and she nudged him again, harder. 

"See, you _are_ hopeless," she said archly, and he shrugged. 

"I know. Sorry. Why, when did you?" 

"Fifth year," she said promptly, and he felt his eyebrows go up and his stomach flip over. 

"What do you mean, fifth year?"

"When you were hurt, from that brain thing. I just – that's when I knew, is all." 

He could hardly believe his own ears and wriggled closer. 

"You liked me all this time?" he said incredulously, and she laughed, a bit awkwardly.  
"I suppose. Yes."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"I don't know. I wasn't sure if you liked me beyond friendship. I mean, I thought you _maybe _did – but a heart's a lot to put on the line for a maybe, isn't it?"

"'Mione," he said softly, "you should have told me."

"Why? What would you have done?"

"I don't know. Something."

"Right," she said, still smiling. "Well, it doesn't matter now, does it? I – Ron, I'm really glad – that you came." 

She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed hers back. He wanted to kiss her again, but wasn't sure if he should just move slowly.

"Er – Hermione," he began, and there was a sharp knock on the door. Hermione's hand slid away from his, and she leapt up from her bed to answer. 

"Hang on," she called, and a few moments later was opening the door to reveal a slick-haired Malfoy. 

"Hi," he said coolly. "Ready for patrols?"

"Oh!" She sounded surprised, and glanced behind her. Malfoy automatically followed her gaze, and couldn't stop his eyes from widening, ever so slightly, when he saw Ron. 

"I'm so sorry, Draco, I forgot completely." She threw another apologetic look at Ron, who was standing now, arms folded over his chest. 

"Don't worry about it, then," Draco said, shrugging with one shoulder. He took a step back into the hall.

"No, no," she protested. "No, it's OK, I'll get my jacket."

"No," Draco said firmly, eyes flicking back to Ron and away again. "You're busy. It doesn't matter. Bye."  
And without another word, he strode off down the corridor.

Ron came up behind Hermione, and peered out after Malfoy, managing to catch a flick of his emerald cloak before he was gone.

"You know I don't like him," he said tightly, and Hermione tilted her head to look at him, rolling her eyes. 

"No," she said, "you're kidding."

"Let me finish," he went on quickly. "I don't like him – and I think he's got a thing for you, which I like even less. So – just be careful, OK?"

She closed the door and turned so that her back was against it, like when he'd first come in here. It seemed like weeks, not hours ago. 

"I thought you were going to say you'd try to like him for me," she said wryly. 

Ron thought about this.

"Sorry," he said eventually. "Can't."

"It's alright." She reached up and brushed his hair back a little, half-smiling. "It's OK. And I'll be careful"

His skin tingled where she'd touched him. Actually, he was tingling all over. He couldn't believe this. It was like some kind of dream that he'd wake up from soon, and wish was his life. 

This was his life. This was happening. 

"Shit," he breathed, and before she could open her mouth to tell him not to swear, he quickly leant forward and kissed her. He wanted to memorise the way she felt, the way she tasted – just in case, somehow, it all disappeared in the morning. She was sweet and warm; the light press of her small, slender fingers on the back of his neck made him tremble.

"Well," she said, a few minutes later, breathless, touching her forehead to his. "What was that for?"

"You know what," he said hoarsely, and her eyes dropped to her feet.

"Well," she said again, quietly. He could tell she was smiling, even with her head down. They stood like that for some time, and then Hermione looked up again. "Maybe you should go," she said softly, disentangling herself.

"What, why?" he protested.

"Because it's late …"

"It's Saturday!"

"And if someone catches you here, they'll report you."

"Who, Malfoy?" he said darkly. 

"Just anyone."

"We're not doing anything wrong."

"I know."

"So?"

Hermione laughed a little. "Ron," she said. "It's late. Look at you, you're half-asleep."

It was true, but he didn't want to leave. 

"Hermione …"

"Admit it. You're sleepy. Don't be a boy about this."

"I'm not!"

She eyed him, and he crumbled.

"OK," he admitted. "I did some work today, and it must have wore me out."

"Unaccustomed study will do that to you," she teased, and then deftly opened the door behind her back. They stepped out into the hall together. 

"So – I'll see you tomorrow," Ron said, feeling rather awkward now. 

Hermione nodded. "OK. Tomorrow. Breakfast."

"Right. Goodnight, then."

She smiled a small smile. "Goodnight, Ron."

He hesitated, but before he could kiss her a last time, she was coming forward and hugging him hard. He put his arms around her, and for the first time became aware of the smell of her hair. It wasn't anything he could put a name too, but he liked it, and when she let go of him, he wished he had that scent back again. 

He stared at her a moment, and then, not knowing what he'd do if he stayed any longer, said a gruff: "Bye", and started off down the hall. 

It was only at the top of the stairs that he stopped. She was watching him go, and he really wanted to ask, but didn't know if he could. 

He could.

"'Mione," he called, flushing. "Are you my girlfriend?"

There was a brief silence, and then Hermione broke into a sudden, pleased smile. 

"Yes, if you want me to be," she called back. "Are you mine?"

"What, your girlfriend?" he asked, confused, and she burst out laughing. 

He loved it when she did that.

"Goodnight," she said again, and ducked into her room. 

~

The party was almost entirely wound-up when Ron came back into the Gryffindor common room. Somebody had been around with a _Scourgify _charm as well, and things were looking clean enough for him to feel that his responsibility as a prefect had been met.

He went up the stairs whistling, and bumped into Harry and Ginny saying goodbye in the dormitory doorway. 

"Sorry," he said hurriedly, and backed up a few steps, but Ginny was breaking away, Harry running a hand through his hair embarrassedly. 

"That's alright," they said, almost in unison, and then glanced quickly at each other. 

"See you tomorrow," Harry said softly.

"See you."  
Ginny slipped by Ron, down the stairs, presumably heading for the girls' dorm. Harry and Ron met eyes. 

"So?" Harry said, and Ron shrugged, unable to suppress a grin.

"So what?" he said, coming up all the way and pushing past Harry into their bedroom. 

"So _what_?" Harry said, following him. "Where've you been?"

"Nowhere," Ron said innocently, moving to his bed and getting into pyjamas. 

"Nowhere meaning – Hermione's room?" Harry suggested, changing himself, and Ron shrugged noncommittally, pulling back the covers. 

"Oh for Merlin's sake," Harry said impatiently, in boxers and a shirt far too big for him – one of Dudley's cast-offs, most likely. "What happened?"

Ron bit his lip, and then couldn't hold back anymore.

"I told her," he blurted. 

"Told her what?" asked Harry. "That you fancied her?"

"Yeah. That." 

Silence. 

"_And?_" Harry said eventually, and Ron grinned again. 

"And – she said she fancies me too."  
Harry stared at him for several long moments, and then let out a heavy, explosive breath, falling back onto his bed. 

"Well, finally," he said, half-laughing, half-groaning. "I've got to tell Ginny."

"Hermione'll tell her," Ron said, "before you can. You know what girls are like."

"True," Harry acknowledged, and sat up. "So," he said. "Did you – you know."

"What?"

"Did you kiss her?"

"Yes," said Ron, ears bright red. "Now shut up."

"OK, OK."

Another silence, quite contented this time, but Ron couldn't resist a brief mention of the new developments between his friend and his sister:

"You and Ginny seem cosy."

"Yes," Harry said. "Now shut up."

He took off his glasses and put them on his bedside table. 

"Does that mean you're dating my sister?" Ron asked casually, and Harry froze in the very act of getting into bed. 

"Er – I guess," he said warily. 

"Right."

"Is that – a problem?"

"That depends," Ron said ominously, and Harry looked distinctly uneasy. 

"On what?"

"On how good you are to her."  
A long, long silence this time, and then Ron started to laugh. After a confused pause, Harry relaxed and threw a pillow at Ron's head. 

"Don't do that," he said, clearly relieved. "I thought you were going to pull the big brother act on me."

"Not right now, thanks," Ron said happily. "Besides, you _will_ be good to her. You don't know how to be anything else."

"Gee, thanks," Harry said dryly, but sounded happy enough himself. 

Neither of them said anything for a while, and Ron was beginning to think that Harry must have fallen asleep when he spoke, quite suddenly.

"You do realise this is going to be Hogwarts gossip." 

"How d'you mean?"

"Me and Ginny, you and 'Mione. On the same day. We'll never hear the end of it."

Ron thought about this for a moment. 

"You know," he said, "I really don't care."  
He turned his head, and saw that Harry had his eyes on the ceiling, a half-smile forming on his face. 

"Yeah," he said firmly. "I don't either."

~

Ron was nervous about seeing her in the morning, which was weird. Well, not so weird lately – it seemed like he was always nervous around her these days – but this was different. This was a _What if she sees me now and decides she doesn't want to be my girlfriend after all _kind of nervous. It wasn't at all pleasant, and left his stomach roiling and jolting. 

Harry looked more tired than sick, and was fighting a losing battle with his hair. Ron didn't even bother. He knew his hair was never going to be exactly right, and that he looked like a prat if he combed it properly. After running his hands through it a few times (mostly in anxiety), he let it be.

"Ready?" he said to Harry, hovering in the doorway. Harry threw his hands up in the air and abandoned the mirror.

"OK," he said resignedly. "Let's go."

They went down the stairs and out into the castle in silence, and Ron began to think that maybe even if Harry wasn't _looking_ sick, he probably didn't feel much better than Ron did. 

In the Great Hall, the girls were both there, heads close together in conversation and breakfast already in front of them. Harry and Ron stopped in the doorway and looked at each other.

"What if she's changed her mind?" Ron hissed, and Harry shook his head. 

"Don't be stupid."

"Well, what if?"

"Then you change her mind back again."

"Aren't _you _nervous?" Ron challenged. 

"Like hell," Harry said grimly. "But I'm trying not to be." He glanced around. "Hey, they've seen us."  
Ron turned his head. Both the girls were looking at them from across the room, and then Ginny gave a quick wave. 

"Come on," Harry said, eyes fixed on Ron's sister. He made his way forward and Ron went after him, trying to calm himself.

"Hi," Ginny said when they reached the Gryffindor table. She smiled up at Harry. "Are you sitting?"

"Yes," Harry said immediately , and took the place beside her. Ron chanced a look at Hermione. She was smiling too, and he found himself taking the seat to her right. There was a brief silence between them, but when Ron opened his mouth to say something, Hermione met his eye and he lost words. 

"Morning," she said, and then, after a moment's hesitation, kissed him lightly on the cheek. She pulled back and looked at him uncertainly. 

"Morning," he replied, unable to keep the wonder from his voice. 

Still real. Still happening.

She looked reassured, and passed him a plate. "Breakfast?"

"Yes, please."

When she handed him the plate, their fingers touched, and his heart pounded. 

"So," he said, with an effort to be normal. "What are we going to do today?"

"Flying," Ginny said promptly, hearing him.

"That's a great idea," Harry enthused. "We can go over the lake."

"If McGonagall will let us."

"Sure. Ron, you up for it?"

Ron was looking at Hermione.

"I don't want to if you don't want to," he said lowly, and she smiled a bit. 

"I was thinking – maybe today could be just us," she said.

He liked this, the 'us'. He liked that there _was_ an 'us' suddenly, that hadn't been there before.

He cleared his throat and spoke over the girls' heads to Harry. 

"Ah – no," he said, feeling his ears redden despite all internal demands to the contrary. "Me and Hermione'll probably just – stay around here for today."  
Harry nodded. Ron had a feeling that he was pretty happy about having Ginny to himself, anyway. 

"Sure," he said. "That's alright."

"Sure," Ginny said, echoing him. "Fine."

A few minutes later, Ron glanced sideways at Hermione, and found her sneaking a look at him too. They smiled at each other for what seemed a very long time before he forced himself back to his breakfast. 

Yeah, he liked this. He liked this a lot. 


	16. The Love Club

A/N – First thing's first, congrats to Jessika Organa Solo on your engagement!! Very exciting!! *sighs happily* I love weddings. And I'm glad you're all enjoying this :)… ~the breath that you're finished with~ Shez  PS – J&R forever, Meegs! PPS – Again, sorry about delay. Am doing my absolute best, I promise. Daily updates should be running again after this weekend. 

~

"We're disgusting, mate," Ron said. 

Harry was standing with his hands in his pockets, stamping his feet a little to get warm.

"Why are we disgusting?" he asked, clearly confused.

"We're like – well, what happened to swinging bachelorhood, that's what I want to know," he said. 

They both turned their heads. Hermione was helping Ginny with Advanced Cheering Charms out on the snow-covered grass (that hadn't wanted to disturb anybody), and they were clutching each other and laughing. Ron felt his heart do that thing again – that thing it did whenever he saw her and remembered that she was his, in a way. 

She noticed him watching and gave a little wave, before bursting into another round of giggles.

When he glanced at Harry, his friend was giving him a knowing look. 

"We might be disgusting," he said, "but would you want it any other way?"

"Ah – no," Ron admitted. "No. This is – good."

"Yeah."

It was late on a Friday afternoon, almost three weeks since the quidditch game, and Ron was beginning to settle into this idea of him and Hermione being together. He wasn't so aware of himself when he was with her in public. He wasn't so nervous of what she'd think of him. He wasn't nervous of what other people thought, either. He just felt glad, and comfortable – and like an indescribably lucky bastard too, that this girl could possibly want him as her boyfriend.

It was the beginning of December, and snow was setting in at Hogwarts. Ron liked winter, and the cold. He liked that feeling of his face being nipped in sharp breeze, and the sound his boots made on the ground. Simple things, but sweet, and they reminded him of Christmas and pudding and hours talking around a fire, wrapped in blankets.

"Here they come," Harry said, startling him out of his thoughts. "Thank Merlin, I'm freezing."

"We could have gone inside," Ron pointed out, and Harry shook his head. 

"What, and looked like poonces? They'd have laughed us out of the common room."

"True."

Ginny was ahead of Hermione, taking big strides over the snow. She still had a grin on her face from the charms, and put her arms around Harry's neck when she reached him.

"Hello," she said. 

"Hello," he replied, putting his arms around her waist. "Are you done?"

"Why, are you cold?"

"No," he said immediately. "We're fine."

"Let's go have dinner."

Harry and Ginny started off, but Ron waited a little longer for Hermione to catch up. She broke into a smile when she reached him, and held her hand out. He took it, and they went after the other two, not speaking. 

She seemed to like holding his hand, quite a lot. At odd moments, just walking beside her in the corridors, or at breakfast, he'd find her sneaking her hand into his, very quietly, as thought hoping he wouldn't notice. He did notice, of course – he loved that she did it, and almost wanted to tell her how much he loved it. 

Then again, if he told her, it wouldn't be quite the same. He kept his mouth shut instead. 

"Well," she said, and leant against him. 

He walked slower. "Well," he agreed. 

"It's lovely when it snows, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Reminds me of being at home."

"Does it?"

"Mm."

"Do you miss the Burrow when you're here?"

"Not exactly. I mean, I miss it of course, but Hogwarts is like home anyway. And Harry's here, and Ginny, and you …" He trailed off, ears reddening, and she smiled sideways at him. "What about you?" he went on hastily. "Do you miss home?"

"No," she said simply. "I miss Mum and Dad, but I don't miss home. It's funny. I feel like I belong here more than I do in the place I grew up."

"Do you think you could ever marry a Muggle?" he asked casually, but somehow extremely interested to hear the answer. She was silent for several moments before replying. 

"I don't know," she said. "I suppose if I loved him. But not if he didn't want me to be a witch. That'd be the same as – I don't know, cutting off my legs or something, taking away a part of myself. I couldn't live like that." 

"Right." He wasn't sure how exactly he should respond, because just the thought of Hermione marrying someone else (Muggle or no) made his blood boil.

"What about you?" she asked. "Would _you _marry a Muggle?"

"I don't even know any Muggles, only Harry's, and they're not much good. But I suppose – the same as you."

She sighed, and her breath froze in the air. 

"It's funny," she murmured, all trace of amusement vanishing from her voice. "We're thinking about marriage and things, and we don't even know if there'll be people to get married _to _when we reach that point_._"

"How d'you mean?" Ron asked, alarmed, and she looked at him.

"Voldemort," she said. 

Voldemort. Somehow, he'd managed to forget, but now felt a hard surge of anger thinking of him. 

Bloody Voldemort. Ruining everything he touched – ruining even the _idea _of the future.

"I think about it, you know," she said quietly. "I think about what might happen to us. To Harry." She paused, and then added quickly: "To you, because wherever Harry is, you'll be there too. It worries me that we haven't heard from him in so long."

"'Mione," he said uneasily. "You shouldn't think about all that."

"Why?"

"Because it doesn't help to think about it, not until it happens."

"I know it doesn't help, but I can't stop myself."

"You have to," he insisted. "You'll go mad. Focus on other things."

"Like what?"

"I don't know – these things," he said, squeezing her hand briefly. "Good things."

She stopped, and he stopped with her. With her free hand, she tucked a piece of escaped hair back underneath his beanie, and then touched the side of his face. Her lips were a faint blue, but her hands were warm. He put his free hand on the side of her face, his little finger brushing her ear. He wasn't thinking about Voldemort anymore – and for some reason, he didn't think she was either. 

"Oi!" Harry shouted from the Great Hall entryway, and they both dropped hands from one another's faces. Ron thought how strange they must have looked, and couldn't quite meet Harry's eye. 

"Are you coming or not?" Ginny called, holding onto Harry from behind, and Ron nodded shortly. 

"Let's go," he said.

Hermione nodded too.

"OK."

They went into dinner.  
~

Everything seemed to be going swimmingly until Wednesday morning, when Hermione came down to breakfast and was different. 

"Hi," he said, moving over so that she could sit next to him.

"Hi," she replied, taking the free place, but not touching him, not looking at him.

"What?" he asked, and she frowned down at her plate. 

"Nothing," she said, in a tone that meant: _It's something important._

Ron glanced at Harry. He was talking to Ginny, completely oblivious. Ron leant towards Hermione again, and lowered his voice.

"Tell me," he insisted. She looked up and smiled at him, but it was clearly an effort. 

"I'm fine," she said firmly. "Just tired."

"Hermione …"

"Honestly."

"You're sure?"

"Sure."

"Sure, sure?"

"Absolutely."  
Reluctantly, he went back to his breakfast, peeking at her whenever he could. There was a strange set to her mouth, like she wanted to say something, but wasn't going to. She left the Hall soon after, with vague claims about needing to research in the library before class. 

He tackled Ginny (in a non-literal sense) as soon as Harry had to stop talking and eat something. 

"What's up with 'Mione?" he said. 

Ginny looked shifty. "Oh – I don't know."

"Don't give me that," he said, pointing a finger at her. She slapped it away. 

"Stop it," she said irritably. "OK, something's wrong."

"What, just this morning? She was fine yesterday."

"We had a bit of a talk last night."

"Well, what then?"

"I'm not supposed to tell you."

"Why?"

"Because she wants you to figure it out for yourself."

There was a pause while Ron digested this, and then he turned his eyes to his plate despairingly.

"Bloody hell. I'm no good at this kind of thing."

"Don't worry about it," Harry said blithely, mouth full. "It's probably just that time of the month, and you're supposed to be sensitive about it."

"_Harry!_" Ginny said. 

"What?" he asked innocently. 

She stared at him for a few moments, and then groaned. 

"I'm going to find some girls to talk to," she said.

"Gin …"

She was gone before Harry could get another word out. He looked a bit worried, but Ron couldn't sympathise. He was desperately racking his brains for wherever he'd gone wrong – or whatever it was that had slipped his mind. If Hermione was upset about it, it had to be something important, but he couldn't pick it for the life of him.

Seamus threw himself down beside Ron, and immediately got stuck into some bacon and eggs. Ron ignored him, lost in thought, but pretty soon had to give in to the Irish boy's persistent nudges. 

"What?" he said sharply. 

Seamus looked hurt, and Ron sighed. 

"Sorry," he muttered. "What's up?"

"You and Hermione, then?" he said, grinning slowly, and already recovered from Ron's rudeness.

"Yeah."

"Took you long enough."

Funny how everybody said that. Ron just grunted, and didn't hear what Seamus said next. "Pardon?" he asked, trying to be polite, and Seamus repeated himself.

"You asking her to Hogsmeade this weekend?"

"Hogsmeade?"

"Yeah. First Hogsmeade weekend this year. Apparently Dumbledore wasn't going to let us this year, because of – well, You-Know-Who and all that, but it's a treat for Christmas. Didn't you know?"

"No," Ron said, wheels cranking forwards in his head. "I didn't."  
He thought for a moment. Hogsmeade. This weekend. And he hadn't asked her yet.

"Shit!" he said loudly and elbowed Harry. 

"What, what?" 

"Have you asked Gin to Hogsmeade with you?"

"Yeah," Harry said immediately. "Asked her yesterday afternoon. First date. I'm bloody nervous."

"Right."

Understanding dawned on Harry. "You haven't asked Hermione?" he said incredulously.

"I didn't know."

"How could you not?"

"I – I don't know."

The truth was, she distracted him. He wasn't very focussed these days. 

The more he thought about it, about her face when she left the Hall, about the whole first date issue, the worse he felt. Quite abruptly, he stood.

"Where are you going?" asked Seamus.

"Library," he said. "Have to fix this."

He departed at a half-run – but not before heard Seamus' wondering murmur:

"Now _that_ is a man lost to love."

~

The library was quiet this early in the day, and dust motes spun in the cold air. He rubbed his hands together and went as unobtrusively as he could past the librarian's desk, but she still gave him a suspicious eyeing. 

He scanned the desks, but couldn't spot her, and went looking along the aisles. After fifteen minutes, there was still no sign, and he was beginning to think that she might have gone to class already when he noticed a figure standing at the intersection of two shelves, partly in shadow. It was her, he knew that. He recognised her body, and felt his heart thud painfully as he made his way over to her. 

"Hey," he said, and she started, touching her forehead nervously when she realised it was him. 

"Merlin. Don't do that."

"Sorry. I wanted to come find you."

"OK." She paused, and put the book she was holding back into place. "I'm fine, you know."

"I know." He swallowed. "I want to ask you something."

"Alright."

"And – I'm sorry I didn't ask before."

"What is it?"

"Come to Hogsmeade this weekend with me?" he blurted.

Her eyes widened, and then she crossed her arms over her chest. 

"Did Ginny tell you to come and say that to me?" she challenged. 

He shook his head adamantly.

"No. I – someone mentioned a Hogsmeade weekend, and I didn't even realise it was on before, and then I thought – I wanted to ask you – ah –"

"What?" she asked, her expression softening. "To go with you?"

"Yeah. On a – you know, like a date?"

She raised her eyebrows. "A date?"

"Yeah."

"A proper date?"  
He nodded again, mutely. He knew she was his girlfriend, and that asking your girlfriend to go out was perfectly normal, but this was different. This was _going out_ going out – sitting with her in a restaurant or something, showing her off, telling the world "Hey, this girl's with me", and the thought of her refusal made him feel a bit ill. 

"I'd love to," she said, after what seemed a very long time, and he let go of the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. 

"Right," he said. "Good. We'll find somewhere – I mean, I will. I'll find somewhere nice."

"Not that frilly place, OK?" she said. "Somewhere else."

"Sure. Somewhere else."

"Ron – thank you for asking." She smiled widely, and he smiled back, pleased that she was pleased, nerves tingling already in anticipation. 

She reached up and straightened his tie for him, and then touched his chin. He couldn't stop himself – didn't want to stop himself – and leant forward to kiss her lightly on the lips. She slid her arms around his neck, and he kissed her again, harder, deciding at that very moment that he wasn't going to class. He was going to stay right here and kiss Hermione for a while, and then go back to bed, and then kiss her some more, and then – 

She came closer to him, her body pressed up against his, and the thoughts went out of his head. He was all feeling and sensation, all warmth and throb and heartbeat and things getting out of control in the wrong places. Why did she feel this good? Her lips tasted like orange juice from breakfast.

She made a sound into his mouth, and then, as he put his hands on her hips, pulled back quickly, away from him. She took a steadying breath and he leant against a shelf and tried to do the same, glad at that moment for his heavy winter robes. 

"Sorry," she said hoarsely. "I – sorry."

"That's alright. That was – fine."

Making out with Hermione, even in these brief moments, was intoxicating. He felt dizzy. They didn't get to do it too often (didn't get to do it enough, in his opinion), because it was difficult to be entirely alone with her in this school. So far they'd been limited to sound, singular kisses … and a few incidents like this, in which they were _distinctly_ alone, and something wild got the better of them both. 

"We should go to class," she said eventually, softly, and he nodded, slightly calmed.

"Yeah. OK."

They left the library side by side – and it wasn't until they were halfway down the corridor that he realised her hand had found its way into his again.


	17. Out to Lunch

A/N – *sigh* Yes, fluff is nice. Actually, I'm Australian (in response to JWBean's question), so not a Brit … just one of those little colonies in the back of beyond, hehe. Anyhoo, enough of this talk. Here's the next chap, ~check it out~. 

~

On Saturday morning Ron re-read the letter Fred had sent him. Ron had written asking for advice about where to take Hermione in Hogsmeade, and the response had come almost immediately.

_Dear Ronnie_

_Lovely to hear from you old chum. We're both splendid, thank you for asking (even though you didn't). The shop is running nicely. I bought my first suit yesterday, can you believe it? Angelina says it makes me look distinguished, and if that's her bag, then I can live with it. _

_On to business – do not take the girl to Madam Puddifoot's. That can only be a mistake, and though I had quite a lovely snog there once, it's not much fun generally. And knowing Hermione, she'd hate it. There's a little restaurant a few streets away, on the corner. I can't remember what it's called (I don't know if it's called anything, actually), but it's not frilly or too expensive, and they do a ripper lunch menu. Plus it's quiet, and not a favourite with the Hogwarts crowd. Nice and private, if you get my drift. You'll know it when you see it. They've got a sign with a picture of an upside-down man hanging outside._

_Good luck, boy-o, let me know when you're getting some._

_Fred._

_PS – George says don't wear one of your maroon jumpers. I can't think why, they do wonders for your figure. Cheerio. _

Ron folded the thing up and shoved it in his jeans' pocket. He wasn't wearing a maroon jumper, and had opted for a black one instead. Ginny gave it to him last Christmas with claims that he needed more variety. Over that he wore his coat, and a scarf. It was bloody freezing out and about. 

It was also the day before everyone was going home for holidays. Some had set off already. Ron, Hermione, Harry and Ginny had (strangely enough) opted to stay at school for the break. They'd have a week and a half to laze – Harry and Ginny were already making plans to fly out every day. 

Why they'd want to fly in winter, Ron couldn't fathom. It probably wasn't much to do with quidditch, though. 

At that moment, Ron was waiting in Hermione's room. It still felt a little strange to be allowed in there like that, but he wasn't complaining. She was in the bathroom. He stood by her bureau and looked at the photo of the two of them and Harry. Harry was grinning into the distance, but they were staring at each other, and photo-Ron had just leant forward to kiss photo-Hermione when the real one came out of the bathroom smelling like soap.

"Ready?" she said brightly. 

He turned and blinked at her. Even all wrapped up in winter clothes she was beautiful. In fact the more he looked at the clothes, the more he wanted them to be gone, and he had to force himself to concentrate. 

"Ready," he said.

She was fumbling with her scarf, and he came over. 

"Let me," he said, taking both ends of the scarf from her, and knotting it as neatly as he could around her neck. She smiled at him, and when he was done, kissed him lightly. 

"Thanks. Let's go. Where're Harry and Ginny?"

"Don't know. Think they went ahead."

"Ah."

Even he could tell she was trying not to look pleased. 

Once they were outside, Hermione linked her arm through his and moved a bit closer to him. 

"It's freezing," she muttered. 

"I know."

"Where are we going?"

"Hogsmeade."

"Very funny. Where exactly?"

"Ah – not sure. Fred mentioned this place …"

Hermione gave him a look, and he shrugged helplessly.

"I know, but I think it's alright. He's settled a bit – both of them have. Fred's living with Angelina, did you know?"

"No I didn't. What about George?"

"He's living there too. Still messing around …" Hermione gave him another look, and he went on hastily. "I mean, still seeing different girls. You know."

"Right. So what's this place then?"

She'd be even less impressed if he said that he didn't know it's name – or if it even had one. He hoped against hope that it was decent, and that Fred wasn't pulling his leg.

"It's a surprise," he said. 

"Oh."

It wasn't a lie. It _would _be a surprise. 

~

There weren't too many Hogwarts students walking the streets of Hogsmeade, for which Ron was grateful. It seemed like he never got proper time alone with Hermione, and he had a feeling this was about as close as he was going to get for the time being. He liked the way her hands felt in gloves, and the way she kept hold of his arm as though she didn't want to lose him.

"Come on," he said purposefully, passing Madam Puddifoot's. Inside were various pale and nervous couples, sharing tables over which floated doves and lace. 

"Thank God," Hermione murmured, clearly relieved.

"Don't be silly," Ron said stoutly. "I wouldn't take you in there."

Lucky he hadn't taken her in there. 

They wandered a few streets down, Ron scanning the shops as he went, but he couldn't find this restaurant anywhere. He was beginning to worry, and Hermione was beginning to chew her lip, when he finally spotted a sign swinging from an entryway, depicting a man standing on his head. 

"Here it is," he said and swallowed. The place looked very small, and its exterior was rather dingy. _Please don't let it be awful. Please don't let Fred have been a prick._

Hermione went in ahead of him, and stopped as soon as she saw the inside. Ron felt like punching himself, or maybe running back to the castle, and kept his eyes on his feet until he heard her say:

"Ron, it's perfect."

"Huh?"

He looked up and over her shoulder. It was larger inside that it appeared from the street, but not too large. The carpet was a warm red, and small wooden tables with elaborately carved legs stood upon it at various intervals. In the corner crackled a faintly-scented fire, and faded pictures hung on the walls. One couple were already eating. They weren't students, and Ron didn't recognise them.

He heard a small cough, and turned to his right. A woman was waiting patiently behind a stand reading 'Here for Service'.

"Er – hello," he said, stepping past Hermione. "My name's Ron Weasley, I owled to book a table earlier this week."

"Of course." She glanced at a leather-bound book in front of her, and then made a mark with a quill against the page. "How are we today?"

"Fine, thank you," Hermione said, and Ron nodded.

"Lovely," said the woman. "Let me show you to your table."

They were seated near the fire, some distance from the other couple, and their table had a china vase at its centre, with winter wild-flowers. Ron didn't recognise them, but he knew his Mum sometimes had them in the house. He and Hermione sat opposite one another as the woman placed menus in front of them, and then disappeared. 

There were a few moments of silence, and then Hermione sighed. Ron looked at her. She seemed happy, and was smiling at a picture on the wall. 

"Is it alright?" he asked, and she fixed her gaze on him. It made him feel tingly, and a bit ill, and hot and cold at once. How did she still do this to him?

"It's great," she said softly. "Thank you for asking me."

"Well – thank you for coming," he returned awkwardly. 

Another brief silence. 

"I wonder where Harry and Ginny are?" Ron said, and Hermione smiled again. 

"I'm not sure they even came, actually. Ginny was saying they might just stay at Hogwarts for the day."

"OK." Ron could understand that. Privacy was a precious commodity. "Well, good.

"Why is it good?" she asked teasingly, and he shrugged.

"I – don't know. I like having you all to myself."

"Me too. I like having you to myself, too."

Ron found himself smiling back at her, and then she was flushing and turning her eyes to her menu. "Come on," she said. "What are we going to eat?"

They had some French thing with beef. Ron had no idea what it was, but Hermione seemed confident, and it was nice once he was eating it. They didn't talk much over their food, but every now and again he'd glance at her. He felt anxious. He hoped she was enjoying this. 

When they were done, Ron sat back in his chair. He felt pleasantly sleepy from the meal and the fire. Hermione put an elbow on the table – in an unusual breach of table manners – and leant her cheek against her palm.

"This is nice," she said. "Thank you."

"Stop thanking me."

"Stop stopping me. You said Fred told you about this place?"

"Yeah."

"He must have settled down, then. Probably Angelina."

"Probably. And the shop."

"How is the shop?"

"Good, he said."

"Good."

They looked at each other, and he was suddenly wordless. They went on looking and looking, and finally it was Hermione who spoke.

"Ron," she said.

"Yes?"

"I like being your girlfriend."

She flushed again, and Ron raised his eyebrows. 

"Er – I like being your boyfriend."

He felt ridiculous, and elated, and he couldn't stop staring at her. 

"What?" she said, noticing, and he shook his head as though to clear it. 

"Nothing. I just – sometimes I still don't believe – that you'd want me –" He trailed off, and it was his turn to go red. She didn't say anything for a moment, and then leant forwards over the table. Automatically, he did the same. She spoke lowly, not quite meeting his eye.

"You should stop thinking you're not good enough," she said. "I hate it. You're as good as anyone, better than most, OK?"

"It's not true," he muttered, and here she met his eye.

"Don't," she said fiercely. "It _is _true."

There was a long, tense silence, and then Ron nodded shortly. It felt strange to have someone believe in him so – hard. He didn't know what to think of it.  
She kissed him quickly over the table, and then sat back again. 

"Do you want dessert?" he asked, his voice cracking, and she shook her head. "Right," he said, clearing his throat. "Let's get out of here, then."  
~

Hermione wanted to go to the bookstore, but it was rather cramped inside, so Ron stayed out on the street. She promised she wouldn't be long, but knowing Hermione and books, he was in for a wait. 

He didn't mind. He kept his hands in his pockets and thought about what she'd said. 

"Weasley," came a voice from nearby. He looked up. Malfoy was standing there in a heavy brown coat. His hair wasn't slicked back today, and strands of it fell over his eyes. 

"Hello," Ron said stiffly. The last words he'd spoken to him had been a month ago, at the quidditch match, when he'd told him to stay away from Hermione. They hadn't even said a word to one another at the D.A.

"Cold, isn't it?" the Slytherin commented, and Ron shrugged. Malfoy eyed him for a moment, and then sighed impatiently. 

"I'm just trying to be civil," he said. "Is Hermione here?"

"Not 'Granger'?" Ron snapped.

"No," he retorted quickly, "but thank you for informing me of the girl's last name. I never would have picked it otherwise. Is she here?"

"Inside," Ron said. "Why?"

"I need to talk to her."

"About what?"

"Head Boy and Girl things, Weasley. You wouldn't understand."

"Try me." He was almost snarling. He wished he could stop, but was completely irrational when it came to Malfoy.

Malfoy was briefly silent, and then shook his head. 

"No," he said coolly. "I don't think I will."

He made to leave – much to Ron's relief – but then stopped and turned. He came very close to Ron, too close, and he had to resist the urge to step away. 

"I know she's your girlfriend," Malfoy said quietly, "and that's fine. But don't ever threaten me like you did at the game again. Ever. Do you understand me?"

"No," Ron said, with as much sarcasm as he could muster up. "I don't think you're being clear."

Malfoy directed his eyes to his feet, and then raised them to meet Ron's again. They were fiery with anger, but his voice was smooth as silk. "Have a nice holiday," he said, and walked briskly away. 

"What was that?" Hermione asked. Ron spun about. She was standing in the shop doorway, a package under her arm. 

"What was what? I'll carry that."

He took her purchases from her even as she eyed him suspiciously.

"You and Malfoy should really make amends," she said, moving out onto the pavement. "Even he and Harry have managed it."

Ron didn't reply, and they began to walk along. He felt as though their date had been spoiled, with just one interruption from Malfoy. Hermione must have sensed this, because she hugged his arm. 

"Sorry. Let's not even think about him," she said firmly. "Come on, we'll go and do something fun."

"Alright," Ron said. "OK, let's do something."

But Malfoy's words still lingered in the back of his mind – as did the glint in his eye when he'd said Hermione's name, and said that it was 'fine' she was Ron's girlfriend.

Because quite frankly, he hadn't looked fine at all.

~

A/N: Stole Fred's mention of the 'lovely snog' at Madam Puddifoot's from LavenderB's Johnson-Weasley fic. Hope that's alright :) … ~I'll be around~


	18. Christmas

A/N: Big chap and lovey stuff ahead. ~longlive83~ Shez

~

Ron woke up on Christmas morning to a sharp rapping on the dormitory door. He blinked blurrily at his curtains, trying to understand the noise, when he heard Harry groan and roll over. 

"Go away," he said, voice muffled in his pillow. "We're not home."

"Harry," said Ginny. "Don't be stupid. It's Christmas."

"Gin?"

"Can we come in?"

"Is 'Mione there?" Ron called, and then smiled when she piped up:

"Morning."

"Hang on, I'm coming," Ron said, but Harry was already out of bed by now and jogging over to the door. Ron swept back his curtains and saw them stepping in, Ginny in an old nightie that Ron recognised from home (getting a little short now), and Hermione in long pyjamas. They both had slippers and dressing gowns on, and were shivering. Ginny was carrying a pillowcase.

"D'you want to go down to the common room?" Ron asked, pulling back his covers. "There's a fireplace there."

"No," Ginny said immediately. "Let's stay here."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "And it's not like Dean or the others are here to be disturbed."

"Did Neville go home for Christmas too?" Hermione asked, and Ron shrugged.

"He must have, he's not at Hogwarts. Come sit here." He patted his blankets, feeling somehow nervous, and Hermione looked at him a moment before coming over. She sat on the end of his bed. She'd never done this before, and watching her tuck her feet up underneath her body, he felt a surge of happiness in the vicinity of his stomach. 

Ginny sat on Harry's bed, and Harry eyed her briefly.

"How come you can sit in our rooms," he said eventually, "and we can't go into yours."

"Because," Ginny replied, quite archly. "Boys can't be trusted."

"And you can?"

"Of course," she said, and then grinned. "What did you get?"

Ron and Harry examined the piles at their bed-ends. Ron's mother had sent both of them the usual package of home-made sweets and jumpers; Harry had given him a set of the twins' Extendable Ears, and some Every-Flavour Beans; Charlie sent Ron a dragon's tooth on a string (his letter explained that it had only fallen out of the beast's mouth due to poor dental hygiene, but nobody else had to know that); Bill sent aftershave, Fleur sent a framed picture of her and Bill in Paris (why Ron would want this, he had no idea, but it was a nice thought); finally, Fred and George had sent him a brown-paper-wrapped package. When he removed the covering, he found a how-to book – _Charming the Robes off Radiant Women – _with the inscription: "Thought this might come in handy, Casanova." He quickly folded the thing back up in its wrapping before Hermione could see it. 

The girls waited patiently for them to finish their present opening, but soon Ginny was nudging Harry.

"It's a lovely broom repair kit," she said firmly, "but can we give ours now?"

"Of course," Harry said, putting the kit away. He didn't say who'd sent it, but Ron had a feeling it might have been Lupin. "Shall we fetch them, Ron?"

"OK," Ron said, feeling that nervousness rise up again. He'd picked this all on his own, and hoped it would do. No, more than that – he hoped it was exactly right. 

Once they had their gifts out of their bureaus, and Ginny and Hermione had taken theirs from Ginny's pillowcase, the four of them sat with these packages on their laps in a momentary, awkward silence. 

Then Hermione laughed a little, and then they all did, and then Ginny was moving closer to Harry, and Ron was looking at Hermione. She was still smiling, and pushed her present towards him. 

"Here," she said. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," he replied, and put hers on her knees. 

He opened his first. It was a Chudley Cannons Sweatshirt, in blue.

"Thanks," he said, impressed, and she raised her eyebrows anxiously. 

"Is it alright?"

"It's lovely."

"Look under the collar, at the back."

He did so, and his eyes widened as he saw what was written there – _Final, 1990._

"'Mione …" he breathed. "Is this … what I think?"

"The man in the shop promised me it was genuine. The people used one of those truth serums and everything. Anyway, the Keeper wore it when they went to the national championships that year. I mean, I think that's it. That's what they said. I – do you like it?" 

He could hardly comprehend the question.

"Like it? Merlin – wow. Thank you. Thank you so much." He kissed her once, pulled back, and then had to kiss her again. "Wow. Thank you. How did you get this?"

"I have my ways," she said, smiling widely now. "I'm glad you like it."

"I love it. I may never take it off."

She wrinkled her nose. "That's not going to work for hygiene."

He grinned, and took a breath. "So," he said, "are you going to open mine?"

"Of course."

She took off the paper and ribbon (Ginny had done that for him, he was shite with wrapping), to reveal a small, black box. Hermione glanced at him with a disbelieving expression, and then back at her present. For several seconds, she just stared at the box, holding it in her hands.

"Don't you want to see inside?" he said eventually, and she glanced at him again, very briefly, before removing the lid.

There was another silence, and the she drew the necklace he'd bought out of the box, and held it up on outstretched fingers. A silver charm – a Celtic symbol – hung from it.

"Ron," she said lowly, "is this real silver?"

"Yes." He didn't know what else to say.

"You bought this for me?"

"Yes."

"How can you afford this?"

"I managed."

"But how?"

"Hermione – don't worry, OK? It's a present. I want you to have it. I – I don't know, I thought you could wear it. So you'd think of me," he finished in a mumble, suddenly unable to meet her eye. It _had_ been a bit of stretch on the resources, but he'd cope, and it was worth it to get her something decent.

There was another silence, interminable in his imagination, and then she turned slightly, and pulled her hair to one side. 

"Put it on for me?"

Looking at the nape of her neck, the little curls that she'd missed, he felt his pulse throbbing fast. 

"Right," he said, and did so. The clasp was small for his big hands, so she reached to do that bit herself, before taking the charm between her fingers and holding it up. 

"Do you know what this means?"

"It's one of those old English things."

"Celtic."

"Yeah, Celtic. That's the symbol for loyalty," he said, flushing a bit. "That's what the guy who sold it to me said."  
Hermione looked at the charm a little longer, and then dropped the necklace so that it lay against her skin, beneath her pyjamas. As far as he could tell, it was sitting somewhere between her breasts, and that thought was enough to make breathing difficult. He glanced sideways at Harry and Ginny in hopes of distracting himself. He'd almost forgotten about them, but Ginny was practically in Harry's lap, hugging him, and Harry was laughing lowly. He seemed pleased.

"You gave me a Snitch," she said incredulously, and then sat back, turning to Hermione and Ron with bright eyes. "He gave me my own Snitch!"

"To practice with," Harry interrupted. "So you can be Seeker for England one day."

"Don't," she said, reddening, but gripping the little gold ball tight in her hand. "I can't believe you. These are expensive."

"Not really," he said. The expression on his face was – Ron didn't know how to describe it. Sort of solemn and earnest and something else altogether. "I wanted you to have it."

Ron looked away as Ginny kissed Harry, and found that Hermione was taking his hand, facing him again. She put her palm against his palm, and her fingers came two-thirds of the way up his. 

"Small hands," he said softly, and she smiled down at them.

"Yours are just big," she corrected him.

This was the best Christmas morning he'd ever had.

~

There were almost twenty students at Hogwarts for the holidays, and all attended the traditional Christmas dinner that evening. Also present were Dumbledore, Lupin, McGonagall and Snape. The other teachers had elected to go home for the break, or were staying in their offices (like Trelawney, who hadn't been to a Christmas dinner since McGonagall humiliated her 'Inner Eye'). 

For Ron, the meal was half-spoilt by the presence of Malfoy. Being, in effect, an orphan (his mother dead, his father a wanted criminal), and isolated from the rest of his dark-arts-mad family by way of his conversion to Dumbledore's Army, he was forced by circumstance to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas. He didn't look too happy about it – he didn't look too _unhappy_ either, but then again, that was Malfoy these days. Inscrutable.

In many ways, it had been easier when he was just plain _bad. _Ron tried to ignore him.

Dumbledore told ridiculous but quite funny jokes, which even McGonagall enjoyed, and Snape brooded quietly at the end of the table, a white faux-fur hat from a Christmas cracker on his head. Ron listened to Hermione laughing, and Harry and Ginny chatting in warm murmurs to his left. He ate his roast, and his pudding, and had second helpings like the polite Weasley boy he was. He gradually forgot about resenting Malfoy, and forgot about the memories of last Christmas (which was somehow less menacing, Voldemort further off) – he just let himself fall into the happiness of the evening.

At the end of the meal, Lupin leant over to Harry and Ron. 

"I'd like to speak with you, if that's alright."

Harry nodded. "Of course. Now?"

"If you don't mind."

"It's fine."

"We'll see you in the common room," Ginny said, standing. 

"I'm going up to my room first, and then I'll come down," Hermione said, and stood with her. They both wished Lupin a Merry Christmas, and walked out of the Hall.

"What did you want to talk about?" Harry asked immediately. He sounded rather edgy, as per usual when speaking privately with Lupin. Ron was pretty sure Ginny was right about reminding him of Sirius, and maybe his father too – and he thought Lupin knew it, because his eyes became sort of sad.

"I wanted to make sure you are continuing the D.A. with the commencement of this new term," he said. "I've got a feeling it's going to be important for people here to have their wits about them when it comes to defence." He gave Harry a meaningful look that Ron did not understand.

"I know we haven't had as many meetings lately," Harry said after a moment. "It's difficult in seventh year …"

"It's alright." Lupin waved a hand dismissively. "I just thought I should – warn you."  
Warn them? Warn them of what?

"Do you know something about Voldemort, Professor?" Ron asked lowly, unable to stop himself, and Lupin gave him a startled glance.

"Know something? No. But …" He hesitated. "I _feel _that things will be coming to a head this year."

"What, the war?"

"Yes, the war, if you can call it that."

"Well, we'll do it," Harry said shortly. "Thanks."

"If you need my help …"

"We're fine for the moment."

"Right. I know you're busy, and I'm sorry to put this on you."

"We started the D.A.," Harry said, but he sounded somewhat grim. "We'll keep it up." 

"Thank you," Lupin said simply, and then his eyes regained a certain twinkle that they'd been missing. "I know you have your hands full with study, and N.E.W.T.s, and …" He jerked a head in the direction of the two girls' departure, "other important things."

Ron's ears went bright red, and Harry cleared his throat. Lupin didn't wait for them to reply.

"Good," he said. "I'm glad we got to speak. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," they replied, almost simultaneously, as Lupin left the table.

There wasn't anybody left in the Great Hall besides Harry and Ron – everyone had gone back to their respective rooms, he presumed – and it was suddenly quite eerie there, the only sound the reedy, dimming voices of party hats charmed to sing carols, the only light shining from torches, candles and the starry ceiling. 

"I'm going to the common room," Harry said. "Coming?"

"Er – I might just go and meet Hermione first, and come down with her."

"Alright." Harry stood, and then paused. "Well – Merry Christmas, mate."

"Merry Christmas."

Harry ran a hand through his hair awkwardly, and departed. He was clearly shaken up by Lupin's mention of Voldemort, and Ron thought it was rather silly of the teacher to bring the thing up in holiday season, of all times. He was thinking about this as he left the Hall and went upstairs, and of what Hermione would think of it.

All his thoughts stopped when he heard voices on the third floor, close by. There was something strange about the way they sounded – he couldn't put his finger on it – and then with a certain rise-and-fall of speech he recognised Hermione's tones. 

That clinched it. He had to see what was going on. Hurrying now, he went down the corridor in the general direction of the sounds. He was walking for half a minute, and was just beginning to wonder if he'd imagined it, when he came around a corner and saw Hermione and Malfoy. Malfoy had a hold of her upper arm, and Hermione was looking at her feet. He was speaking to her, rather intensely. Ron still couldn't make out his words exactly, but it was these sounds that had carried down the corridor. 

He didn't know what to do – move, stay, punch Malfoy in the face. He watched, feeling helpless, and then Hermione cut Malfoy off with a sharp word. She removed her arm from his grip and began to walk away, but he came back and grabbed her again, harder this time. 

"Don't," she said loudly, but Malfoy just moved his hand to her wrist instead, still talking. She tried to pull away once more, but he was stronger than her, and she couldn't. He was leaning close, too close, talking fiercely, and Hermione was twisting her arm to remove it from his grasp. 

At that point, Ron found himself walking forwards at a rapid pace. Malfoy heard his footsteps on the stone floor before Hermione did, and released her immediately. He didn't run off – somehow, Ron had almost expected that – but shifted away from her a little.

Hermione took one look at him, and then began to shake her head.

"Ron, it's OK," she said, rather lamely, but Ron was hardly listening. He went directly to Malfoy, put his hands on his chest, and pushed him up against the wall. Malfoy made a small sound of surprised exhalation, but said nothing. He didn't struggle either, just met Ron's eye with cool collectedness.

They stared at one another for some time, and then Ron managed to speak.

"If you ever touch her again," he said gratingly, "I'll hurt you. I'll make you wish you'd never been fucking born, Malfoy. Understand me?"

Still Malfoy said nothing, didn't even move. Abruptly, Ron didn't want to look at him anymore, and pulled him away from the wall and into the corridor. 

"Get out of here," he said, and Malfoy, with strange composure, turned and walked away. 

Ron stood where he was, breathing hard, staring at his feet.

"Ron …" Hermione began, but he held up a hand as if to say 'don't talk'. She paused, but then continued, quietly: "Do you want to go to my room?"

He didn't really know, but he didn't want to leave her alone. He nodded, and they went.

~ 

Ron didn't say a word on the way, but his voice returned as soon as she shut her door. 

"What the hell was that?" he burst out, spinning to face her. "What was he doing?"

"He wanted to talk to me," she said. "Will you calm down for a second?"

"No, I will not fucking _calm down._"

"Don't speak to me like that," she said sharply, and he clamped his mouth shut with an effort. He knew if he didn't, he'd swear again. Hermione's expression softened and she came a bit closer. "Are you OK?" she asked, and he shook his head once. She bit her lip, and came closer still. "I'll tell you what he said, alright?"

"Alright," he said hoarsely. "Tell me."

"He said that I should be with him."

There was a long, tense silence. Hearing her say that made him feel light-headed. 

"So you were right," Hermione went on, "he does fancy me. It's only because I'm nice to him. He said it himself, I'm the only person who really bothers. Other people are civil, and other people don't care, and other people are downright nasty. Of course he fancies me if that's what it's like for him here. And that's what I said too – that he should think about it a bit more before he just came out with things like that."

Ron could feel his jaw tightening. 

"And then he said he had thought about it, and that he knew I was a – a Muggle-born, and that he didn't mind," Hermione said, taking another step forwards.

"For God's sake," Ron muttered, furious, but she put her hand on his arm and it was oddly calming.

"And then I said I was with you. And he said you didn't deserve me. And I said he was being ridiculous, and to let me go. And he said he wouldn't until I listened to him. And I said I _had_ listened to him, and I didn't want to listen anymore, and he said I'd just have to, and then you came in. And that's everything that happened."

Her hand moved from his arm to his cheek, and when she spoke next, her voice shook, just a little. "So I told him I didn't want to be with him, alright? And you have to promise not to hurt him or anything. He can't help it that he doesn't have anyone else, and he can't help it that he was raised to think that whatever he wants, he gets. He didn't hurt me. I'm fine."

"What about next time?" Ron snapped, and she cut him off.

"There won't be a next time. I want you to promise me you won't hurt him, OK? I feel sorry for him. He has to sort himself out. Look at me properly."  
He raised his eyes to meet hers. They were hard and pleading at the same time, and he found himself nodding. He couldn't resist her.

"Right," she said, relieved, and dropped her hand. "Right." She put an arm around his waist instead. "But thank you – for coming along when you did."

"That's alright," he replied, quite stiffly.

Her other arm went around his waist too. "Because you know I don't want him, don't you?" she said seriously. "I only want you. You know that?"

He didn't say anything, and she held onto him tighter until he nodded again.

"Yeah, I know. I know."

She had hair in her face, and he brushed it behind her ear, before letting his hand come to rest on the back of her neck.

"It's been a good Christmas," she murmured.

"Yeah," he agreed lowly. "It's been a good Christmas."  
She smiled, just slightly. "Are you going to repeat everything I say?"

"No." Her voice was quiet. It made his throat feel closed-over, and his heart go crazy. She just went on looking at him. 

Merlin, who was this girl? Where did she come from? When did she stop being Hermione his girl-buddy, and start becoming this woman who had such a hold on him? 

"I want to kiss you," he said suddenly. She didn't respond, but he leant inwards anyway, and pressed his lips hard against hers. She opened her mouth – he could taste Christmas, and he could taste her. He was warm, and his whole body was tingling (certain parts in particular). She was pressed up against him, and his hands were on her back, sliding beneath her jumper despite all internal demands to the contrary. 

_Don't_, the voice of reason kept saying. _Stop now before this gets too much._

He couldn't, and she wasn't pushing him away. It felt so good to touch her like this, and forget about Malfoy and all the rest of it, that he was almost dizzy. His hands were on her bare back now (beneath her jumper, beneath her shirt), sliding up to her shoulder-blades. He'd never touched a girl's shoulder-blades before. They were slender and curved against his fingers. 

She was tugging at his Chudley Cannons sweatshirt too, and he had to remove his hands from her to let her pull it off. He was still wearing a singlet, and she paused only briefly before taking that off too. She ran her hands over his chest, and his stomach, and, biting his lip, wondering if he dared, he put his hands on the bottom of _her _jumper. He tried to see her face, tried to ask _Is this alright? _with his eyes (God knows he couldn't have said it aloud), but she wasn't looking at him. 

Slowly, he tugged her jumper all the way off. She was wearing a white T-shirt beneath it (he recognised it, she'd worn it before) and, almost trembling, he took hold of this too. 

"'Mione …" he said, finding voice, but she cut him off before he could say anymore.

"It OK," she murmured. "I want you to."

"Are you sure?"

In response, she pulled her shirt off herself. She wasn't wearing anything beneath it, and his heart went even faster – he hadn't thought that was possible. There was only the necklace he'd given her, lying in the space between her breasts, very bright. He touched it lightly, and then moved to touch _her_. Her skin was soft beneath his hands, and he couldn't believe that he was allowed to see this, feel this.

"Merlin," he said hoarsely, and from the corner of his eye he saw her smile a shaky smile. She leant against him, kissing him, kissing his collarbone.

By now, he wasn't doing too well in the downstairs department, especially with her so close. It was the sweetest kind of torture, and it was surreal, and was this happening – was he standing here, was her shirt on the floor? 

At that moment, her hips came flush against his, and he groaned aloud, unable to stop himself. She must have felt him because she pulled away almost immediately, and covered her mouth with one hand, the other dropping to her side. She looked taken aback and half-frightened, and he didn't say a word, just tried to calm himself with some fast inner talk and deep breathing. 

There was a long, long silence.

"Ron – I –" she began, and then stopped. 

"It's alright," he said. "We don't have to."

"I – I'm sorry."

"Hermione," he said, as steadily as he could. "Don't say sorry, OK? I don't – I don't want to – not until you're ready – I –" He didn't know what else to say, so bent and picked up her shirt instead. He handed it to her, and she shrugged it on quickly, flushing. 

"You don't – mind?" she said then. 

He ached all over, and quite frankly he could have slept with her right then, on the floor if necessary, in half his clothes. But mind?

"No," he said quietly. "I don't mind. We don't have to do anything if you don't want."

She swallowed. "I do," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "I do. I'm just – a bit scared. I'm not – I don't think I'm ready yet, for that."

"I know. It's alright."

"Just not yet."

"Hermione, it's OK."

"Ron, I'm –"

"Shut it," he said firmly, and gave her a half-smile. "Don't say anything else, OK?"

She smiled back faintly, and nodded once. "OK."

He put his singlet and sweatshirt back on and there was an awkward moment while they stood looking at one another. 

"Well," Ron said then. "I'm going to bed."

He made to go past her, but she stopped him. 

"Ron?"

"What?"

"You can – I mean, you don't have to go yet. We won't – do anything. But you could just – sleep here tonight."

"Sleep here," he repeated, and she made a movement that was part shrug, part nod. 

"I just don't feel like being by myself," she said lowly. 

Ron thought for a few moments, and then nodded. 

"OK. OK, I'll stay here."

They talked for some time, and then she got into bed, and he sat at her feet, and they talked more. When she fell asleep, he watched her for a little while, and then dimmed the lamp. He went back to his own dormitory, deciding that it'd be better all round if he did so. At least he wouldn't risk getting 'Mione in trouble.  

He barely dozed. The whole incident felt like a dream.

~

The tension mounts … and I'm spent for this evening. :) ~no-one wants to be alone at Christmas-time~ Shez 


	19. A Challenge

A/N – Somehow, I knew LavenderB would approve of that last one, heh heh. As Trav said, my first real venture into the 'red light district', and I'm glad it measured up. It wasn't too wild anyway :) … Thank you for reviews, they push this story along. ~I want to live in the centre of a circle~ Shez (quoting from an AGT Police cover, now, JWBean – getting tricky, aren't you? *grin*) PS – This one won't be as long. Sorry. 

~

Ron went and sat in the common room early the next morning. He still couldn't sleep. The place was deserted, which he didn't know if he liked or not. He wanted to be alone, and at the same time wanted to be in a room full of people. It was always like that the day after Christmas – that coming-down feeling, when you're still trying to hold on to the party atmosphere.

At half past six, Harry came yawning down the stairs. Ron turned slightly in his armchair to face him. His hair was sticking up one side, and he was just putting his glasses on.

"Morning."

"Morning."

Harry threw himself down into the armchair next to him, and didn't say anything for almost a minute. 

"What happened to you?" he asked eventually. "You never showed."

"Yeah."

"Neither did Hermione."

"Yeah, I know."

Harry eyed him expectantly. Ron didn't elaborate.

"So," he prompted finally. "What happened?"

"Merlin, nothing, OK? Nothing happened. We just didn't feel like it, OK? I mean – you know. You don't have to hassle me about it." He said all this in a rapid, defensive rush before settling back against his cushions, pulse suddenly racing. 

Harry blinked at him, clearly taken aback. 

"Sorry," he said.

There was another silence, quite pregnant, and then Ron found himself speaking.

"OK, something happened, but not what you think."

"I didn't think anything."

"Well, good. Because we didn't. I mean – we weren't going to. We kind of – I don't know, it just got a bit out of hand – and – and she was – Merlin – shit, Harry," he finished lowly, dropping his head. "And Malfoy – bloody Malfoy practically accosted her in the hallway last night."

"What?"

"Yeah, after dinner. Said that she should be with him, and that I didn't deserve her."

"_What?_"

"You heard me."

"Malfoy? Fancies 'Mione?"

Ron shrugged helplessly. He couldn't feel angry yet (it was too early in the day), but he was definitely tense. His shoulders muscles were all knotty, and he wriggled them uncomfortably. Harry was staring at him in disbelief, and in the end sat back heavily in his seat. 

"Well," he said. "I wouldn't have picked that." He hesitated. "So – what did you do?"

"I pushed him up against a wall and told him not to touch her again."

"Ron …"

"Don't tell me I shouldn't have," he snapped. "I'm sick of hearing it. What else was I supposed to do, tap him on the shoulder and politely escort him down the hall, offering a few choice explanations as to the faithful nature of relationships?" 

He felt a bit breathless after this burst of eloquence, and sat back in his seat. 

Harry looked at him for a few moments, and then shook his head. 

"I wasn't going to say you shouldn't have. I was going to say it's a bloody good thing you confronted him, or he'd have taken it the wrong way."

"Oh." He paused, a bit confused. "How d'you mean?"

"I mean – well, what Malfoy wants he gets. It's how things have been his whole life."

"That's just what 'Mione said."

"Right. So if you were to imply that you didn't mind so much about him … er, taking a liking to her, he'd probably run with that."

"You think?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. That's just my opinion. I don't think I'll ever work Malfoy out."

"I don't _want _to work him out," Ron said darkly. 

There was another silence. 

"So what's all this with Hermione then?" Harry said. 

The question took him by surprise, and he plucked at his jeans for a while, stalling for time. Finally, he sighed and scratched his head. 

"I don't know," he said frankly. 

"Are you getting – you know, serious?"

_Serious? _he thought. Well, he was taking it seriously, and he was pretty sure she was too. And it _felt_ serious, in quite a literal sense. Sometimes he'd just be looking at her, and he'd get this heavy, solemn feeling in his chest, as though it was very important that he kept sitting there, listening to the things she said and watching her work. 

It _was _important. He didn't know how he'd managed before, pretending otherwise.

"I think we're serious," he said finally. "We are. But all of _that_ – ah – the – you know –" He was blushing, without wanting to, and Harry waved a hand at him.

"Don't tell me," he said, looking both amused and uneasy. "I don't think I want to know."  
Ron took that moment to deflect the subject away from himself and Hermione.

"What about Gin?" he asked.

"What about her?"

"I mean – you know, are _you_ 'serious'?"

"Ah – yeah. I guess."

Ron had a sudden, hazy and quite horrifying picture of Ginny and Harry doing something like what he and Hermione had been doing the previous night, and pushed it away with an almighty effort. He didn't know what he thought of that – he knew it made him feel edgy, and half-worried, but couldn't concentrate too hard on the concept.

"Right," he said. Harry was looking rather thoughtful.

"It's weird being like this," he said eventually. "Don't you think?"

"Being like what?"

"Being – you know, like you said, dating someone."

"What about Susan?"

Harry frowned. "With Susan – I don't think it was the same." He glanced up, saw Ron eyeing him, and went a bit red. "Anyway," he said hastily, "I just thought it was weird. And I wondered where you got to last night. Just as long as you didn't fight or anything. I couldn't stand that again."

"We don't really fight these days," Ron admitted. "It's easier just to let her win."

At that moment, Ginny came down the stairs from the girls' dorm. Ron watched Harry's face soften, literally.

"I heard you," she said sleepily, wrapping up her dressing gown.  

"From all the way up there?" Harry asked, and she shrugged.

"I'm a light sleeper." She paused on the bottom step. "I'm not interrupting?"

"No," they said simultaneously, and she narrowed her eyes at Ron. 

"Where were you last night?" she said challengingly. 

Harry looked at him sideways, and Ginny put her hands on her hips. 

"Er – long story," he mumbled eventually. "I'm going to breakfast."

He got out of there as fast he could. Talking to Harry was one thing. Talking to Ginny, who was bound (by some kind of girls' oath, he suspected) to tell Hermione anything he said, was an entirely different kettle of fish.

~

The rest of the school returned two days later, and it was straight into class. Ron wasn't focussed. He was entirely _un_focussed, in fact. It was too distracting to have Hermione around. Every time he looked at her, he'd have wild flashes of memory – of kissing her, touching her hair to fasten the necklace on, passing her a jug of bloody milk at breakfast. When she crossed her arms over her chest, he'd inevitably remember standing in her room after Christmas dinner, shirtless, and it made his heart pound.

Things were a little awkward between them at first, but soon cleared up. They didn't discuss it, but were somehow back to normal fairly quickly. He wanted to bring it up – what had happened, that was – and at the same time, found it impossible. 

She'd developed a habit of fiddling with her necklace chain. It was an unconscious gesture, and he loved it. Again, he never pointed it out. She was working hard (she was always working hard), but remarkably under-strained. Usually she would have been at breaking point by now, but she seemed calm and collected. 

"It's only tests," she said once, in the middle of their Potions study, and Harry and Ron both dropped their quills in surprise. 

"What do you mean, _only tests?_" Harry asked, quite warily. "These are N.E.W.T.s, 'Mione. Didn't you always say that the N.E.W.T.s are the grounding for our future?"

"Oh well," she protested, sounding a bit flustered. "There's always another way for getting what you want."

Ron didn't know what he wanted – beyond a repeat of that night in her room, maybe. He didn't know what he was good at, and he didn't know what he even ought to _try _and be good at. Mostly he pretended to himself that he had another few years of school left, so he wouldn't have to decide. 

Hermione didn't hassle him. He'd expected her to, but she could be good like that. 

She _was _good like that. 

Draco, he avoided like the plague. He feared that if he saw him, he'd beat the living daylights out of him, and Hermione would hate him forever. Intellectually, he understood that she defended him because she felt sorry for him – but the wilder, more emotional parts of his brain could only see Hermione telling him to let Draco harass her. It bothered him a lot, and at the oddest times. He'd want to get up in the middle of the night, and check that she was safe in her room. He never did, but it was a disconcerting feeling, and he wished it would go away.

At the end of their first week back, at the beginning of January, Harry scheduled a D.A. meeting. Lupin was right, it _had _been a while since they'd met, and Harry was clearly feeling a bit guilty. In his invitation note, he apologised to everyone for being so haphazard about practices, and promised they'd be more regular from then on. Ron could barely suppress a tired sigh when he heard – defence against the dark arts was all very well, but teaching a bunch of 4th to 7th years about jinxes when he could have been finishing his Divination (or at least pretending to) did not hold much appeal. Still, he had to support Harry (as Hermione pointed out), and for that reason was standing in front of a group of thirty students in the Room of Requirement late Saturday afternoon. 

"Hi," Harry said loudly. "Welcome back. Hopefully you haven't forgotten all the things we did over the break, but if you have, that's OK. We'll go over them now and refresh your memory. So, where did we start? Hermione can …"

Ron stopped listening at this point. His gaze had found Draco, standing at the back of the group with a blank expression and heavily shadowed eyes. His fists clenched, he couldn't help it, and Hermione noticed and put a hand on his elbow.

"What?" she asked softly, concerned. 

"Nothing," he muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just – Malfoy."

She sighed impatiently, and then squeezed his arm. "Ignore him," she whispered. "And don't worry about it."

Ron suddenly heard his name. 

"Huh?" he said, turning quickly to face Harry, and Harry raised his eyebrows at him.

"Basic jinxes. Weren't you listening?"

"Sorry. I was."

Harry half-grinned at him. "Right. Do you two want to demonstrate?"

Ron looked at Hermione, lost for words. He didn't think he _could _jinx her, not after their Tutorial all that time ago. He supposed he'd have to.

"I'm fine with it," she said, one hand straying to her necklace again, and he was just about to reply in reluctant agreement when somebody else spoke.

"I will." 

It was Malfoy – how did he know it was Malfoy? He'd stepped forward out of the crowd and they parted for him like waves. His expression was bland, his hair slicked off his face, and he was wearing soft leather gloves. 

"Er – that's alright," Harry said hastily. "We've got our pair."

"No," said Malfoy. His voice was firm and commanding. "Don't make him jinx his girlfriend."

"It's not like I'd rather _you _jinxed her," Ron interrupted (mildly taken aback by his own daring), but Malfoy barely cocked an eyebrow. 

"I didn't mean her," he said. "I meant you. I'll duel you."

"This isn't a duel," Harry said, but they weren't listening anymore. Ron's blood was angry in his ears, and he found himself stepping out into the empty instruction space afforded them by the Room of Requirement, silently preparing jinxes in his head. 

"Ron …" Hermione said, and then stopped. He didn't know what she was thinking, but she could probably tell that reason was not going to penetrate his mind at this moment. Malfoy was standing very still at the opposite side of the space, wand in hand.

"Right," Harry said finally. "OK. You can demonstrate. Fine. Elementary jinxes. Step back, everyone, and watch."  
They did so. Ron threw a brief glance at their 'audience'. They were whispering to one another, excited by the palpable tension in the room. 

Ron wasn't excited exactly, but the atmosphere was making his head spin. 

"Take it away," Harry said, and he figured that was his cue. 

"_Stupefy_!" was his first reaction, and it came spinning out of his mouth. 

Malfoy deflected the spell (he'd probably been waiting for it), and returned with one he'd never heard before: "_Lacrimo_!" 

To his shock and embarrassment, Ron burst into tears, and Malfoy's eyes glinted. A bloody crying jinx! Well, if humiliation was his tactic, Ron could play that game. 

"_Praesultify_!"

It was one Hermione had taught him. Malfoy began to dance like a crazy person, and there were scattered titters from the crowd. He recovered very quickly and was soon coming back at him. 

"_Caligare_!"

Ron couldn't see clearly, and felt so dizzy that he thought he might be sick. He staggered sideways, and heard a stifled scream from one of the girls.

"That's enough," Harry was saying, "you're well beyond elementary jinxes now," but Ron _hadn't _had enough, not nearly. 

"_Accido_," he shouted, with sudden clarity and a graceful flick of his wand, and, to his relief, Malfoy went tumbling over. The Falling Jinx. It worked just as well now as it did in practice. 

There was a long silence in which Malfoy didn't move, but then he sat up slowly. Harry hurried over to him.

"Are you OK?" he asked, but Malfoy shrugged him off. 

"Fine."

"Sure," Harry said awkwardly. "OK. He's fine. You're fine, Ron?"

"Fine," he said, wiping his face – it was still wet with tears. 

"Well – that's some jinxes there, then," said Harry, attempting to continue, but obviously shaken. "I don't expect you to be at quite that level. They've – er, obviously been doing some extra work. Now if you can get into pairs, we can go over _Stupefy _again, and maybe Ron will show you that Falling spell."

They obeyed immediately (Harry had a way with groups like this), and Ron risked a glance at Hermione. She was staring at him with an expression of both exasperation and anxiety. He came a bit closer to her, and she shook her head at him. 

"What?" he protested. "Malfoy wanted to. And I didn't hurt him."

"You're so childish, both of you."

"Am not."

She gave him a look, and he sighed. 

"Why can't boys just – I don't know – talk it out?" she said hopelessly. "It's not so hard, is it?"

"It's bloody hard!" 

"Fine, alright." She held up a hand as if to say 'I quit'. "Just don't do it again, OK? I was – you worry me, when you do that."

He couldn't stop a smile. "You were worried?"

"Well, of course I was. You were practically fighting to the death, there."

"And – me dying wouldn't be a good thing?"

"No," she said, rolling her eyes and laughing a little. "You dying wouldn't be a good thing." She grew suddenly more serious, and nudged him with her shoulder. "Definitely not a good thing. So be careful."

"OK," he agreed, equally serious now. "OK, I'll be careful."

"Good."

"Are you done?" Harry called from across the room. He was standing with Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood. 

"Nearly," Ron returned. He leant in to give Hermione a quick kiss, but her lips stayed against his longer than he'd anticipated, and he soon found himself wishing he wasn't standing in a room full of people. After a short while, he pulled away. 

"What was that?" he asked hoarsely, and she shrugged, flushing.

"Don't know," she said. 

When they moved to start their jinxes, Ron saw Malfoy watching them. He met his eye briefly, and then looked away. 

~

Hermione and Ginny disappeared soon after the meeting ('girl talk', the boys were informed) and Harry and Ron were the last left in the room. They piled the cushions and tidied up, and then headed out the door. 

Malfoy was standing in the corridor. He'd clearly been waiting for them. 

"Hi, Malfoy," Harry said, trying not to sound too surprised.

Malfoy didn't reply, but looked straight at Ron.

"You want to fight a real duel?" he said shortly.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Wizard's Duel. Midnight tonight. You name the place."

"Malfoy, what is this?" Harry said wildly. "You can't just hold Wizard's Duels in a school."

"Let Weasley decide," he said, "if he's man enough."

"Ron, come on, just leave it."

Ron chewed his lip, thinking hard. It wasn't much of a choice really. He could fight Malfoy, and put him in his place once and for all – or get dropped on his arse. They could also be found, and if Hermione ever heard about it, she'd freak. Then again, if he _didn't _fight him – well, what did that say about his courage?

Malfoy opened his mouth, and Ron spoke before he could. 

"Sure," he said, resisting the urge to swallow. "I'll fight you. Room of Requirement."

"Who's your second?"

"Harry," he said promptly, and Harry groaned. 

"Do you have to do this?"

There was a silence, and then both Ron and Malfoy nodded. 

"Yeah," Ron said. "We have to."

"I'll see you there," Malfoy replied, before spinning on his heel and striding away. Harry and Ron stood next to each other, and then Harry slapped him over the head. 

"Ow! What?"

"You bloody git!" Harry said furiously. "A Wizard's Duel?"

"What?" he said again, indignantly. "What am I supposed to do, just let the guy walk all over me?"

"Yes! Yes, and keep yourself out of trouble, and in Hermione's good books. Even if he _wins _when you fight, he doesn't get her! You realise that, don't you? This is pointless. It's totally pointless."

"Harry," Ron said, cutting him off. "I have to do this, OK, if only to feel like I'm doing _something._"

"Shit, Ron …"

"You don't know what it's like, to feel like someone's constantly eyeing off your girl. The way he looks at her – as though he's going to grab her next time she goes past and drag her away. You don't know what that's like, Harry."

Harry stood in silence, jaw clenched.

"Will you be my second?" Ron asked eventually, and Harry exhaled. 

"Alright," he said. "I'll be your bloody second. But I'm not telling Hermione."

"Neither am I."

Harry sighed again, and Ron felt a tingle of relief and anticipation in his stomach. It was going to an eventful evening, if nothing else.

~

Latin Translations 

Lacrimo – to weep , shed tears

Praesulto – to leap or dance before

Caligo – to spread a dark mist around, to make dizzy


	20. Sudden Words

A/N: Yay for the people who've recently jumped into this fic! Welcome. And yay for those who've followed all the way, too. Hehe. I'm trying to get a balance of fluff and other stuff (as promised) … bear with me. ~born a house cat~ Shez … PS – The 'R' rating's always been a 'just in case' issue, SweetestThing … I guess I'm gradually earning it. :)

~

Ron came down the common room stairs at half past eleven to find Harry pacing in front of the entry. He looked up sharply when Ron appeared, and ran a hand through his already untidy hair. 

"Ready?" he said shortly.

"Yeah. Ready as I'll ever be."

"Can't believe you're doing this. Got your wand?"

"In my pocket. Got your cloak?"

Harry reached over and picked it up from an armchair. "Got it."

"Well then – let's go."

He swung the cloak over them both and they went quietly out into the dark school corridors. 

It was strange. After a period of anger, followed by a period of panic, Ron had descended into a tranquil calm. He was going to fight Malfoy, properly, after so many years of putting up with his rubbish. It might be an end to all their problems – maybe Malfoy would leave the school. 

And maybe that was a little hopeful.

Still, it could stop him hounding after Hermione. Ron felt a twitch above his eye just thinking about that. It wasn't like he was an especially jealous person. It was more Malfoy's expression when he looked at his girlfriend. Somehow calculating, hungry – 

Predatory. That's what it was. Predatory.

"Harry," he whispered. "Are we anywhere near the Room of Requirement yet?"

"Another floor," Harry replied, under his breath. 

"Mrs Norris?"

"Shit, I forgot the map!"

"I don't think she's around tonight."

"Don't tempt fate."

"Hello?" came a quiet voice, echoing softly around the walls. Harry stopped and stiffened. Ron stopped too, and watched him anxiously.

"What?" he hissed.

_Ginny, _Harry mouthed. 

"What do we do?" A little desperation was edging past the calm now. What the hell was Ginny doing out here?

"Ron? If you're here, will you just come out please?"

"Don't," Ron muttered firmly, and Harry bit his lip. "Don't," he insisted once more.

"Harry?" she called then, and Harry closed his eyes, resigned. He couldn't ignore her. Ron felt his stomach drop as he threw the cloak off and turned to face Ginny. 

"Hey Gin," he said weakly, and she didn't move, staring at them. Ron rubbed the back of his neck, feeling distinctly guilty, and wished he could kick Harry in the shins for letting her know they were there.

After a long moment, she came forwards, and stopped half a metre from them. 

"What are you doing?" she said, folding her arms. Not a good sign. She looked eerily like Mrs Weasley. 

Harry swallowed. "We're – just walking."

"Walking? Under your Invisibility Cloak?"

"You know what happens to students out of bed."

"And what, you just felt like going for a wee night-time stroll, did you?"

"Er – yes?" Harry said uncertainly, and she reached out to poke him in the chest.

"Don't lie to me," she said hotly. "I heard you today, with Malfoy. I came back for a quill, and what do I see but the three of you planning a little rendezvous at midnight."

"Gin, we can explain …" Ron interjected, and she shushed him with her hand, eyes still fixed on Harry. 

"Don't lie to me ever, OK?" she said, and Harry's jaw tightened, just slightly. He really didn't like being told what to do, and Ron could see it was a struggle for him to take it.

"I – it wasn't a lie to hurt you," he managed finally, but she was quick to respond.

"It doesn't matter. It's a lie to hurt _you _– going off to a stupid Wizard's Duel! What on earth were you thinking?"

"I was thinking I could end this thing with Malfoy," Ron said immediately. "Don't blame Harry, I made him. He didn't want to."

Ginny shot him a hard, steady look. "What would Hermione say?"

"I don't know."

"Maybe you should ask her."

Ginny eyed him a few more moments, and then glanced over her shoulder. Now Ron felt his stomach _plummet_ – because Hermione was standing at the corner, in her pyjamas, looking both upset and furious.

"You told her?" he asked Ginny, incredulous, still focussed on Hermione.

"Of course I did," she said. "I couldn't let you go, could I?"

Ron had stopped listening. He approached Hermione almost at a run, but when he reached her, she turned and began to walk away. He lengthened his strides and soon caught up, touching her shoulder. 

"'Mione, don't."

She whipped about and flicked his hand away. "Don't tell me _don't_," she said sharply. "I can't believe you!"

She began to walk again, and he moved alongside her, matching her every step.

"I had to."

"I asked you not to."

"I know, but I had to."

"Had to? Why couldn't you just be the better man?"

"I _am _the better man, OK, but – well, what was I supposed to do?"

"Say _no_," she said in a half-shout. "Just say no! Why are you always so – impulsive?"

"I'm not! I thought about this."

"Oh, for three seconds. Well done."

"Don't say that," he returned, angry now. He gripped her arm, and she stopped, facing him. To his shock, he found there were tears in her eyes. He didn't understand, and dropped her arm. "Don't," he said again, more gently now. "Don't cry."

"I'm not." She swiped a hand across her eyes. "I hate it when you do this."

"Do what?"

"When you can't see reason. You just hate him, for nothing."

"That's not true," he retorted. "I hate him because of the way he looks at you."

"Why do you have to _care _so much?"

Why did he care?

"That's the stupidest thing you've ever asked," he said in astonishment. "Why do I care so much? Because you're my girlfriend, and he wants you."

"Ron, I love you," she said then, almost despairingly. "So it doesn't matter what he wants, because I don't want him. You don't have to fight people for me. You've _got_ me, OK?"

And with that, she turned again and went as quickly as she could back down the corridor. Ron could not tear his gaze from her retreating back, and even when she was gone, went on staring at the place she had been. 

She loved him?

Did she say that?

"Who's there?" It was Filch's croaky drone, and Ron felt a surge of dread before he felt Harry and Ginny step up on either side of him, and the cloak settle over their heads. 

"Hurry," Harry whispered.  
They hurried; but Ron was only half there. 

~

Back in the common room, Harry removed his cloak and he and Ginny launched into a blazing row. Ron couldn't really follow it, but there was something about his lying to her, and how silly duels were, and how she worried, and how he frustrated her, and then Harry interrupted with how she frustrated _him_. It was a mess, and Ron didn't want to be there – it didn't help that he felt partly responsible. He went up the stairs to their dorm as soon as he could, kicked his shoes off, and flopped back onto his bed. 

Hermione loved him.

He was still reeling. He hardly remembered the other things they'd said to each other. He hardly remembered why he'd even been out there. All that stuck was her face when she said it, her wet eyes, cheeks red with cold and shouting, and the words themselves.

Because the thing was, he loved her too. 

It was such a relief to admit it, even only to himself, that he felt almost sick. It was like a relaxation of muscles, or a cold drink after a long run. It was heavy and sweet and he wanted to tell her at that moment, more than he'd wanted to do anything in his life. 

He sat up quickly, and put his shoes back on. He didn't even bother to tie the laces, he was so filled with urgency. 

_Find her, apologise, tell her, _were his circling thoughts. It seemed so simple put like that.

He took the stairs two at a time, passing Ginny and Harry on his way out. They weren't yelling anymore, and were standing quite close together. Harry had his eyes on the floor and was speaking lowly. Ginny wasn't touching him, but her expression wasn't so sharp. They both glanced up when Ron went rocketing past. 

"Where are you going?" Harry said, startled, and Ginny shook her head. 

"Don't go looking for Malfoy now," she said tiredly, and he paused a moment, confused.

"Malfoy?"

Ginny raised her eyebrows at him, but he didn't wait to hear more. He went out of the common room, and managed to get lost, but was soon on the now-familiar path to Hermione's room. It was almost half past twelve when he stood outside her door, and rapped against it with his knuckles. 

"What?" she called.

"It's me," he said. His voice came out wrong somehow, and he had to clear his throat. "It's me. Can I come in?"

"No," she replied, after a long moment. She was standing on the other side of the door, her voice muffled only slightly. He had the oddest sense that he could feel her breathing, feel her body there.

"Alright," he said, a little taken aback by her response. "Are you sure?"

Another long pause.

"I'm sorry," he went on, when it seemed she wasn't going to speak. "I shouldn't have said I'd duel Malfoy. I should have known you'd hate it. I'm sorry."

Still nothing. He battled on regardless.

"And – I know you don't fancy him, but sometimes it's hard, when I can see what he wants from you, and there's nothing I can do about it. And I know you hate it when I get angry, but it's just the way I am. I can't control it. You're right, I don't think things through. I'm an idiot."

"You're not," she disagreed softly. He thought this was an encouraging sign, and leant his forehead against the door.  

"Please let me in," he murmured.

Again, a silence. His pulse was racing, and he was breathing too fast – he'd practically run all the way to her room. The problem was, now that he was here, and talking, the harder he was finding it to voice his earlier thought.

She spoke suddenly, in a rush.

"I shouldn't have said what I said."

"What you said what?"

"That I – you know. It freaks boys out, I know that, and I shouldn't have, and it was stupid of me. I was just worked up and angry. OK?"

"'Mione," he said hoarsely, "let me in."

The door creaked slowly open, just a little, and he met her eye through the gap. 

"Hi," she said. She'd been crying.

"Hi," he said. "Sorry."

"You already said sorry."

"Sorry anyway."

"That's alright. You didn't go in the end." She paused, and her eyes flicked away. He couldn't stand that she'd said _that_ to him, and was virtually taking it back. He wanted to shake her and tell her that she was being ridiculous, and couldn't she see how he felt … but none of that came out of his mouth. 

"Hermione, I – er –"

He searched for her gaze, but she was deliberately focussing elsewhere.

"Er – I – care about you a lot."

Shit. That's not what he meant. 

"And – and I love – being with you," he added hastily. "And I love talking to you."

"Right," she said lowly. 

Why was this so difficult when he was face-to-face with her?

"Hermione, I – what I'm trying to say is – I feel the same, alright?"

Now she met his eye. "Feel the same what?"

"Feel the same way you do. About what you said."

She frowned at him, just slightly. "About what I said?"

She was going to make him come out and say it. He took a steadying breath and rolled his shoulders once, while she eyed him, puzzled. 

"Ron, are you …" she began, but he cut her off. 

"I love you," he said. 

The longest silence yet followed this announcement, and now he understood why she hadn't been able to look at him before, because he was having some trouble now. It had come out of his mouth so suddenly, so – almost inappropriately, that he was embarrassed. And this silence, this silence was the worst. Couldn't she say something?  
Just as he was beginning to consider running away, he heard her door creak all the way open, and felt her hand on his hand. He lifted his head. She was biting back a smile. 

"Could you say that again please?" she said.

She was lovely, and he loved her. 

"I'm not sure that I can," he admitted. "It was – kind of hard."

Her fingers linked through his.

"You can," she said. 

He touched her hair with his free hand. "I love you," he said, and she was right, he could say it. It was easier the second time too. He felt less sick, and this round he could watch her face. 

"OK," she murmured. "Alright."

She tilted her head, and he bent to kiss her. It felt different in some way – gentler, more important – and then it was the same, slow and sweet and Hermione. He backed up and they were kissing against the wall then, her hands at his waist. His were in her hair, both of them, and he could smell that almost-flowery scent that always lingered about her person.

When they stopped, she leant her head against his chest. 

"You're not just saying that because I did, are you?" she asked, and he shook his head. 

"You've said two stupid things in one night, now.  That's a Granger record."

"Promise, OK?" She looked up at him earnestly. She looked very small at that moment, and he felt an overwhelming swell of protectiveness. "Because if you're just saying it, I don't want to hear it."

"I'm not just saying it. You're the best thing in my life. I don't know what I'd do if you weren't around."

She blinked at him, and then grinned.

"Who are you, and what have you done with my boyfriend?" she said.

"Hey," he protested. She laughed softly and hugged him hard. 

"I love you as well," she said. "Like I said."

They stood like that for a long time. 

Ron didn't give a single thought to Malfoy.

~

A/N: Sorry, no duel. Fluff instead. But I enjoyed it. Cheers, Shez XO

  
 


	21. Love and Frustration

A/N – Bit of bad news for you. I'm going on a week and a half's holiday (pretty much) as of tomorrow, and don't know if I'll be able to update. I'll do my best, but chances are slim. Please stick with me though, 'cos I'm so not finished. Sorry to muck you around like this :( … Also, I wanted to say that this isn't an Aftermath prequel, everyone – OK? (Remember how Ginny and Harry don't get together till the summer after 7th year in Aftermath? And you know how they're getting together right now in Harry's 7th year? Hmm). I thought about the prequel concept and it didn't sit properly with me. Right, enough of my babble, I'm going to watch the first Australian Idol final (gasp), and I'll see you on the other side of this chap. Fluff ahead. ~you, enter you~ Shez … PS – I read every review, greennymph :) Thanks XXOO

~

Three weeks passed faster than three weeks should, and it was the first of February almost before he'd blinked. His time at Hogwarts was ticking away, and he didn't know if he loved it or hated it. Snape was a bastard, and study was a bitch, and N.E.W.T.s loomed like a rain-heavy cloud in the distance –

But besides all that, there was Hermione. 

He still found it bizarre sometimes, when he looked at her and remembered she was his girlfriend. He felt ridiculously lucky, and more than a bit inadequate. He was better than he used to be (her words from their date in Hogsmeade had stuck), but it was odd – that a Weasley boy, and the one with the least amount of charm or appeal, in his opinion, could keep this amazing girl even remotely interested. 

He also thought that the 'I love you' concept was excellent. After he'd gone back to his dorm that night – after _saying it_, that is – he'd been a bit worried. What did you do after you said 'I love you'? Where can a relationship really go? He'd been a bit nervous until he went down to breakfast, and found her beaming at him.

"Hello," she'd said. 

"Hello."

"Do you want toast?"

"Yes, please."

She'd plucked a few pieces out of the holder, and put them on his plate, and they'd eaten. That was all. It was the same as it had been for the past couple of months – with something else too, something he couldn't quite put his finger on – and he loved that they were the same, but different.

Harry noticed right away that something was up. He'd asked Ron after breakfast.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Hermione's weird."

"Hey. No she's not."

"I just meant she's acting weird today."

"How would you like it if I said Ginny was weird?"

"You wouldn't."

"Huh."  
That was the end of the conversation. Ron still hadn't told him the details. The thing was, he was right. Hermione _was_ acting weird – or maybe weird was the wrong word. She was different. She wanted to hold him more. There was more kissing, at the oddest times, when they'd look at each other and suddenly be heading for the nearest empty classroom, even if only for five minutes. Harry noticed their disappearances too, he suspected, but kept his mouth shut. 

Once, he mouthed 'I love you' at her during Transfiguration, and almost as soon as the class was over, and the lunch hour begun, they were making out in her room. 

It always went just so far, and not beyond. He hadn't seen her again as he did at Christmas. To have her this close was both wonderful and terrible. He loved it of course, but he was only human, and no matter how good she felt, or how long they kissed, he still felt the need for some kind of – relief. 

And he didn't know how to bring up the sex issue with her. He'd been raised in a houseful of boys, with one rather tom-boyish sister. They'd been taught to respect women, and treat them nicely … but talk to them about sex? Mrs Weasley hadn't exactly gotten around to those lessons. 

Mostly he tried to ignore that particular frustration, and focus on the positives. Her general sweetness. The pleasantly lazy banter that once would have ended in argument, and now ran on into snogging. The way he'd sometimes find her things in his dorm, or her hairs on his shirt (A/N – hehe, John quote) … He had it luckier than most poor, lonely blokes, and made a decision to just be happy with what he had for the time being.

So it wasn't until the beginning of February that his resolve snapped, and he had to say something.

It happened like this:

Dean came into the common room very early Sunday morning, when Harry and Ron happened to be finishing an all-night quidditch strategy session. The new season was up-coming, as was their game with Ravenclaw and they were determined to make a good go of it. They'd also had a few rounds of chess and exploding snap, along with food from the kitchens, and it hadn't been a bad sort of night. 

When Dean came in, he bumped his head on the entryway ceiling and swore under his breath. Both Harry and Ron looked up from their table, Harry squinting into the darkness with a strangely professional eye. 

"Who's that?" he said sharply.

There was a silence, and then Dean piped up. 

"Me."

"Dean? What are you doing?"

Dean had righted himself by now, and was literally strutting over. Strutting was the only word. Ron watched him doubtfully, wondering what this was about. 

"Nothing," he said, deliberately vague, and Harry sighed.

"Go on, tell us."

"No."

"Go on," Ron said then, with a little more force. 

Dean looked from one to the other, and smiled. "Well. Just had a shag with Lavender downstairs."

Ron blinked at him, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Harry doing the same.

"You're not dating her, are you?" Harry asked finally, and Dean shrugged.

"Not really. I took her to the Ball, though. We had a bit of a snog sometimes. But yeah, we did it. Just now. She's crazy. And I'm tired, I'm going to bed."

He wandered upstairs, and Ron and Harry were left in a mildly uncomfortable silence. Ron was tense, and somehow upset. After a few seconds, he threw his quill down and sat back in his seat. 

"I hate this," he said, and Harry raised his eyebrows at him.

"What, quidditch strategy?"

"No, bloody – bloody Dean shagging bloody Lavender."

"Er – excuse me if I'm wrong, but aren't you dating Hermione?"

"Of course," he said impatiently. "I don't mean it like that. I don't really care who Lavender's shagging or not shagging or whatever. I mean – well, he's not even seeing her. He doesn't even like her much, does he? And she lets him – you know, when – well, you know."

"Ron …" Harry said, and then stopped. He didn't seem to know what to say, and shook his head. "You can't explain that," he managed eventually. "It's just the way things are."

There was another long silence, and then he couldn't control himself.

"I want to sleep with Hermione," Ron burst out.

Harry stared at him in shock, and then laughed a bit when Ron put his head down on the table. 

"I'm not sure I wanted to know that," he said, in a mixture of amusement and unease, and Ron groaned.

"It's horrible. I mean, it's awful."

"Awful, right," Harry commented dryly. "Ron, guys would kill to have what you have. And how often do I almost catch you two snogging every day?"

"It's not –" His ears were red, he couldn't stop them. "It's not enough," he finished miserably. "I'm crazy about her, and I wish it was enough, but it's _because _I'm crazy about her that it's not."

"I know," Harry agreed, a bit glumly, and Ron looked at him. Harry cleared his throat and glanced away, and Ron tried not to think about that.

"It's just – I can't say anything to her, or I sound too much like an insensitive … well, bloke," he went on. "And I'm not. I'm not, am I?"

"Well …" Harry began, and then grinned when Ron's face fell. "Ron – you love her, right?" he said frankly. 

Ron nodded. He did, harder than he'd thought he possibly could. 

"Then I don't see how you wanting to – get closer, is insensitive." He hesitated. "Do you think Hermione wants to – you know – er –"

Ron cut him off. "I don't know. Sometimes I think she does. A while ago, she said 'not yet'."

"Maybe you should just ask. Girls always like when you talk things through."

"I can't," he said, in anguished tones. "How'm I supposed to _do_ that?"

"Why not?"

"Well – I want to know what she thinks before I ask her."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You'll go far in life, Ron," he commented. "You're not afraid to take risks."

"Don't," he said sharply. "I'm just – oh, I don't know. It's stupid. Forget it. You can't push these things anyway, and I don't want to. That's the last thing I want to do. It's just – it's frustrating, not to know how she feels."

There was a third, tense silence, and then Harry spoke once more.

"Ron," he said thoughtfully, "maybe we can read her mind after all."

~

"Harry, this is the worst thing we could possibly do," Ron hissed.

"Shh," Harry returned. "They'll hear you."  
It was the next night, and they were creeping up the stairs to the hallway where Hermione and Draco had their rooms – with the extendable ears Harry had given him for Christmas. Harry had insisted that girls talk about everything ("Ginny and Hermione more than most, even") and that all they had to do was listen in.

"First off, girls don't really talk a lot about sex – do they?" Ron said, and Harry shrugged.

"I don't know. They must."

"And second, this is private conversation you're talking about."

"If you're too scared to ask, then this is one alternative. The other is do nothing and wait to see if she brings it up."

"Harry!"

"What's it to be?"

He'd chosen the extendable ears, and now he was kicking himself. He didn't think it would do any harm, but girl talk was girl talk, and kind of sacred. Guys weren't supposed to hear it, and he felt very guilty as Harry let the ears rest against her door, stretching all the way from the top of the stairs. Ron cast a worried glance at Draco's door, but again, it was sealed.

They'd watched Ginny leave the common room earlier to talk to 'Mione, and now they heard his sister's voice. Ron nearly jumped out of his skin, but Harry put a hand on his shoulder to hush him. His eyes were gleaming – Ron suspected that he hadn't had so much excitement in a while, and was enjoying this.

"… still hasn't said it."

"Hasn't he?" 

Hermione now. His heart missed a few beats, then started up again.

"No," said Ginny. "I think he's coming close. But you know Harry, you have to nudge him sometimes."

Ron glanced at his friend, and he was blushing, gaze fixed on the opposite wall. Maybe he wasn't enjoying it so much now.

"Yeah," Hermione agreed. "Ron's the same. What can you do?"

"Don't know. Nothing."

There was a contented sort of pause. 

"So," Ginny said eventually, "anything like Christmas happen again, with you two?"

Ron's mouth dropped open. She'd _told _Ginny about that? Harry was cocking an eyebrow at him, and Ron waved a dismissive hand.

"No," Hermione was saying, "not yet."

Harry (mildly recovered from hearing himself talked about) gave Ron the thumbs up, but he just waved a hand again.

"Are you going to?"

"I don't know. Sometimes – I think I want to. And other times, I think I don't for a while."

"Mm." There was a pause, and then Ginny giggled. "He said he loves you!"

Hermione giggled too. "I know." Then she sighed. "I know."

"I never would have thought he had it in him."

"He did, though."

"You'd know."

"Gin!"

More giggles. Harry and Ron were shaking their heads – not at each other, not even at their girlfriends, but at the sweet, mysterious turns of phrase they used, and the way the spoke to one another. It was slightly different to the way they spoke in their presence. Ron didn't know what had changed, but it was endearing.

There was a burst of static as the ears shifted, and then Harry quickly put them back in place. When he had, they caught the last past of Hermione's next words. 

"… love him. I do. I just want it – you know, to be perfect, when it happens."

"It won't be perfect," Ginny said. "Nothing is."

"Well, as close as it can come," Hermione replied, a bit defensive. "He's been really good about it. And – I don't know. I don't want to ruin things. I just – want it all to be right."

At that point, Ron took hold of the extendable ears and pushed them away from the door. Harry looked at him, surprised.

"Don't," Ron said quietly. "I don't want to listen anymore. OK?"

"OK," Harry agreed.

They went back to the common room, where Harry put the set back into Ron's hand. They sat down by the fire and Ron chewed his lip for a while before Harry spoke. 

"So what did that tell you?" he asked. 

Ron didn't reply for a moment.

"I can't rush things," he said eventually. "She'd hate that. And I'd hate it because she'd hate it, and 'cos I'd hate myself too."

"So – what are you going to do?"

He had a sudden, shining idea, at that very convenient moment.

"Valentine's Day is soon, isn't it?"

"I think so."

"And 'Mione keeps telling me how that's our three-month anniversary …"

Harry whistled. "Three months. Me and Ginny too, then. It doesn't seem that long."

"I'll do something nice," Ron said, thinking hard. "Something to say that I care about her, and not just – all that other stuff."

"She knows that already," Harry pointed out, and Ron waved that hand at him again. "Don't," Harry said irritably. "I'm not a bloody fly."

"Sorry. I think it's a good idea. I want her to be happy, and not stressed about all this."

"You're not going to bring it up, then?"

"No. Not until she's – you know, ready."

Harry seemed about to reply, but then stopped. He frowned down at his knees for a moment, and then broke into a half-smile.

"What?' Ron asked, almost dreading his friend's teasing, but none was forthcoming.

"Nothing," Harry said. "You've just grown up, is all."

 Grown up. Now _that _was a weird thought. 

They sat for some time in contemplative silence.

~

A/N: Such boys. :) You'll hear from me ASAP … Shez


	22. A Certain Evening

A/N: Hello out there! I have had a plethora of lovely reviews, for both this fic and Aftermath in my absence. Rock on, guys, I love it. Had a FANTASTIC holiday too – I've got Buckley's of being awake before noon tomorrow, but it was all good. And now, I'm going to do my absolute best to punch out a new chap. Keep reading, sorry about the wait … ~no more 3x5s~ Shez   PS – Hey, check out the Oz band _Cat Empire_, and their awesome song 'Hello'. I don't think it's been released in the US or UK yet, but come on, see if you can find it – I dare you! S.

~

In all the haste and drama, Ron had almost forgotten about Malfoy. Strange – he used to be such a focus of Ron's every day (Where's the prat now? Is he looking at her? Maybe I can hit him, maybe I shouldn't, etc.) that not to be thinking of him was rather unusual. Malfoy hadn't even said a word about the missed duel. He'd given him a long, unreadable look the next morning, and sometimes in class he'd feel the Slytherin's eyes boring into his back, but Ron was beyond caring. He wasn't going to apologise for getting Malfoy up at midnight, for a duel _he'd _initiated. 

Besides, he was spending his time doing better things that night.

It was, therefore, something of a shock to find him lurking, quite literally, in the owlery, early Valentine's morning. 

Ron had gone in to pick up a package from the twins. He'd ordered everything he needed for Valentine's day (at a 25% family discount – he'd had to fight for it, but his brothers conceded eventually), and received a message the previous evening instructing him to retrieve the box in the morning.

He found it waiting in the Arrivals section, sealed with a fancy 'Weasley's Wizard Wheezes' label. He had to smile when he saw that, and his own name beneath it in gold gothic lettering. When you bought from the twins, at least you were buying quality.

Ron got out of his wand to perform the levitating charm, and then dropped it when he felt a tap on the shoulder. 

He spun around, and almost _stepped _on his wand when he saw it was Malfoy. He looked as cool and unruffled as ever, and didn't bat an eyelid in the face of Ron's confusion. 

"Er – what do you want?" Ron asked eventually, voice gruff.

"I wanted to have a word," Malfoy replied. "Got a moment?"

Ron had a very bad feeling about this, but the guy was being so polite that he didn't know how to respond.

"Fine," was what he managed to come up with. "I've got one."

There was a brief silence, and then Ron saw Malfoy, very slightly, grind his jaw.

"I'm sorry I came onto your girl," he said. 

Ron was too stunned to speak for a little while.

"Pardon?"

"I said I'm sorry," Malfoy snapped. "And I'm not going to say it again."

He still didn't quite understand it.

"You're sorry?"

"Yes. Are you deaf, Weasley?"

Ron frowned. He felt very weirded out by the concept of an apologetic Malfoy.

"Why?" he asked, and Malfoy shrugged.

"You didn't come to the duel. You should have. But I was thinking, in the end, that I don't really want to fight you anyway. It's a childish tradition."

"Childish," Ron repeated. "The duel was a childish idea?"

"Yes." He paused. "I thought you'd probably ended up with your girlfriend, anyway."

A long, long silence this time.

"So we're even, alright?" Malfoy said then.

Ron bit his lip. They weren't even, nowhere close. Malfoy had been the world's rudest, proudest, nastiest bully for far too long, and Ron would not take his single, disdainful apology as repayment for all the bad things he'd done. But just the apology was so much more than he'd ever expected from Malfoy that he was taken aback. 

"Not even," he said finally. "But – I'm sorry I didn't turn up for the duel, and I accept your apology."

Malfoy nodded once. "Good," he said, and turned to go. 

Ron watched him a few moments, but then had to stop him before he could leave. "Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

"I meant it when I said that I don't want you to harass Hermione again."

Malfoy's eyes glinted strangely, but again his face was set and impassive. 

"Oh no," he said. "I won't."

His gaze ran lazily over the twin's parcel, and Ron was unable to prevent his ears from reddening. He raised his chin rather defiantly, and looked Malfoy full in the face. 

"Have a nice evening," the Slytherin commented, and with that, spun on his heel and walked out, cloak flying around his shoulders. 

It took Ron a little while to absorb the incident, and when he had, he was more confused than before. He didn't understand how Malfoy could go from wild anger to relatively mellow apology, after a period of such non-communication. His first thought was that he was planning something, setting him up for some kind of humiliation – and his second thought was exactly what Hermione would think of this conspiracy theory. 

In the end, he pushed the issue from his mind. If Malfoy wanted to apologise, he could. That didn't mean Ron was going to like him, or loosen up about his relationship with Hermione. He decided he'd accept his apology, but continue to keep him at a definite arms length. Later, he'd ask Harry what he thought. Right now, he had more important things to organise.

That was it. Malfoy just didn't seem important in comparison to the other things in his life.

~

"Bloody hell, Ron," Harry said plaintively. He was lying on his bed, hands behind his head, watching Ron pull a jacket on. "You're going to give the rest of us blokes a bad name."

"Shut up," Ron said absently, fiddling with his hair in the mirror. "How do I look?"

"Spiffing. Marvellous. Gorgeous."

"Shut up," he said again, and jumped on his toes a couple of times. "Shit, I'm nervous."

"What have you got in there?" Harry asked, waving a hand at Ron's _Wizard Wheezes _box. "You're not giving her jokes for Valentine's day, are you?"

"Course not. And it's none of your business. What are you doing with Gin?"

Harry grinned. "Sneaking her out to Hogsmeade for dinner."

He hadn't mentioned this before, and Ron stopped to stare at him. "You are?"

"Yep. Thought it'd be fun."

"Are you sure you should?" Ron said. He didn't want to annoy Harry, but this _was _his little sister, after all "You don't want to get her in trouble."

"I won't," Harry said confidently. "Don't worry. She's in safe hands."

It was true – Harry was the next person, after his family members, who he'd trust Ginny with. 

"Right," he said, and ran his hands through his hair. "Well, have fun."

"Where are you going?"

"Down to the greenhouses. I've got to set up."

"Bloody greenhouses," Harry said, shaking his head. "What on earth are you planning?"

"Just something nice," Ron replied, with more assurance than he really felt. He'd asked her to meet him at the greenhouse furthest from the castle earlier in the day, and she'd seemed excited at the invitation. She kissed him enthusiastically enough, anyway. Now it was over an hour before they were due to meet up, so he had more than enough time to get the place ready. 

  "Good luck, Harry," Ron said, levitating his box again, and Harry gave him a wave before heading for the bathroom himself. Ron hoped he and Ginny behaved themselves, because their mother would have a hernia if she found out her daughter had been off school grounds. Still, he could hardly bring himself to worry about them. He was entirely focussed on his plans for the night – and not screwing things up.

He headed out of the common room and into the halls, before making his way quietly across the lawns to the greenhouse. Sometimes it was excellent being a prefect – if you weren't out _too _late, no-one questioned your right to wander. Neville had given him the password (Sprout allowed him to visit his own plants when necessary, and strangely enough he never forgot _this _password). It worked immediately. 

Inside, the air wasn't as hot as he'd expected. It was a little thick, but otherwise pleasantly warm, and he took off his jacket almost as soon as he'd entered. The room was pleasantly scented, and all the plants stood quietly in the dark. 

He let his box float to the ground, and took stock for a few moments. 

_Please_, he thought, sending up a vague kind of wish. _Please let this work out, or I'll feel like the biggest arse in history. _

~

"Ron?"

It was her voice. She was absolutely on time – he hadn't expected any less – and just hearing her say his name made his stomach skip with nervousness. He'd never done this Valentine stuff before, and if this didn't work, he might never try again. 

"Ron?" 

"Here," he called softly. "Just – come in."

The door creaked open, and she stepped through, suddenly lit by Fred and George's White Stars. They were the twins' invention, small, star-shaped spots of bright that were charmed to illuminate in particular directions. He'd had to string them up, but now, as Ron had instructed, they were shining in Hermione's hair and on her skin, making her glow. She looked surreal, like something from a different world, and his throat was dry watching her. 

She touched her hand to her mouth, and her fingers were lit too, flecked with light. 

"Wow," she murmured, and at that point, Ron muttered the right spell (thank Merlin) and another light, dimmer, spread over the rest of the greenhouse. He was standing fairly close to the door, and he saw her eyes move over everything before coming to rest on him. 

"Did you do this?" she asked finally, and he nodded. She looked again. 

The whole place was covered in roses, and they were growing as they spoke, flowers blooming and fading and dropping away and blooming again. The twin's invention meant that they'd grow for an hour and then disappear, apparently leaving a single rose that would last, healthy and bright red, for weeks. It was popular with the ladies, according to George, and Ron thought it was a nice idea. 

Now, seeing her, he knew it was a nice idea. More than nice.

"Not too corny?" he asked, and she moved wordlessly to him, taking his hand, eyes fixed on the plants growing on and on. 

"No," she said, after what seemed a very long time. "It's amazing."

He couldn't suppress a sigh of relief. He didn't know what he'd have done if she'd hated it. 

She looked at him properly now, and reached her free hand up to rest against his forehead. Were her eyes wet, or was that the light?

"Where do you come up with these things?" she said wonderingly. 

He shrugged. He felt awkward, and full of words he couldn't quite say. 

"Happy Valentine's Day," he said. "And happy three-month anniversary." They were such meaningless, overused phrases, and he wished he wasn't using them. 

"Same to you," she replied, breaking into a smile, hand moving to the back of his neck. "You dark horse, Ron Weasley."

He slid his arms around her waist. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked quietly, and she shook her head. 

"Nothing. You surprise me all the time, that's all."

"Is that good?"

"It's great. Do I surprise you?"

He thought about this, and then nodded. "Yeah. Sometimes."

"Only sometimes?"

"We know each other too well to be very surprised."

"I don't think so," she said, turning her head to watch the roses growing. "I don't think anyone can know each other _too _well."

She was beautiful, the line of her jaw on profile, the curve of her cheek, and he leant forward to kiss her quickly, wherever his lips could land. They found the spot just below her ear, and she shivered. Was she ticklish there? If she was, he hadn't been aware of it – maybe she was right, and you couldn't ever know a person completely. 

"I love you and I just wanted to tell you properly," he said against her skin, and she shivered again. 

"This is properly?" she asked softly. "Roses that grow in front of your eyes?"

"They're not real," he explained apologetically. "They'll be gone in an hour."

She turned to face him again, her expression serious.

"They're real enough," she said, and kissed him on the mouth, slow and warm. Kissing Hermione was the most comfortable thing in the world, and the most exciting, and the most exhilarating. Her mouth tasted familiar. The pounding of his heart was too loud; he was scared she'd hear it. 

"OK," he said eventually, pulling away from her. "Wait. I've got food and everything. Dinner, I mean."

"You want dinner?" she asked breathlessly, and he laughed a bit. 

"Well, if you only fancy a snog, I'm happy to go along."

She smiled again, and chucked him under the chin. "OK," she said. "Dinner."

~

It all went exactly to plan. Apart from a few hiccups with the White Stars (two of which had decided to become Red Dwarves at the last minute, and exploded), dinner was excellent (provided by the twins' new Snackbox range, a variation on the Skiving concept, but with real food), and they found the single rose waiting in the middle of the greenhouse when they were finished. 

He picked it up and handed it to her, but she put it down on the table, and pulled something out of her own pocket. 

"Alright," she said, "now my turn."

"You got me something?"

"Of course."

It was a little black box like the one he'd given her at Christmas, and when he glanced at her, she was biting her lip. Carefully, he eased the lid off. It was a silver necklace, almost identical to his earlier gift, but with a different symbol as its charm. 

"What's this mean?" he asked, and she pulled the necklace out of the box.

"It means Faith," she said simply, and put it in his hand. He didn't have any words, yet again, so she stood to help him fasten it around his neck. When she was done, she planted a kiss on the top of his head and hugged him from behind. "I had a really nice night," she said.

"Thank you for this," he managed, and she nudged him. 

"You're welcome. Thank you for all _this_. This is amazing."

There was a brief silence, and then she spoke again, somewhat uncertainly.

"Ron, you weren't – you weren't doing all this just to get me into bed, were you?"

Ron was so surprised he almost fell off his chair. He spun about and faced her, not liking the worry in her face, and the way her hands slid from his shoulders and back to her sides. 

"No," he said urgently. "That has nothing to do with this, OK? I mean, I wasn't even thinking of that. Not that I don't think about that. I mean, I do. I did. But I wanted to say that I care about you, and not just all that, you know? That's what I wanted to say. Trying to. I – no, I wasn't," he finished lamely, dropping his chin onto his chest. 

She looked at him for a while, and then broke into another of those smiles. 

"OK," she said, and tapped him lightly on the head. "I believe you. I just thought I should ask. Hey, look up."  
He did, and she was grinning now. 

"Pass me my flower?" she said. 

Ron passed it to her, and she took it lightly between her thumb and forefinger. She smelt it, and then eyed him, frowning. 

"Hey," she said. "It smells like you."

Confused, he took the flower from her. She was right – it was the scent of his aftershave, and something else too. His human scent, Ron-smell. 

"Wow," he said. "Fred and George really went all out."

He gave it back to her and stood. She snuck her hand into his hand right away, and they went back to the castle like that, quiet in the late dark, and content. 

It had all gone rather well, actually.

~  

It was past midnight when Ron got to his dorm, after walking Hermione back to her rooms and saying a long, mostly wordless goodbye. He felt quite self-satisfied, despite the bodily throbbing that came from snogging Hermione, and also, subsequently, felt the need to tell someone about how well his night had gone. 

He looked around the dim room – Dean Thomas was out for the weekend, visiting a muggle aunt, and Neville wasn't in bed. He was probably with Luna Lovegood, as creepy as that thought was. In fact, it looked like the only person in tonight was Harry, and his curtains were screening him from view. 

"Oy," Ron said from the region of his own bed. "Hey. Harry."

There was no response, so he walked over and pulled the curtains back. 

Harry was lying there with Ginny. They were asleep and spooning, his arm circling her waist, a hand lying flat on her pale stomach. Her hair was tumbled across his pillow, and Harry's was even more of a mess than usual. The sheets were pulled up to Ginny's waist (past that for Harry, who was taller) and they were both naked. 

Ron observed all of this in quite an intellectual fashion before he began to see red. He noticed very small things – Harry's face in her hair, her back against his front, her legs curled up a bit beneath the covers – and couldn't move. 

Then Ginny shifted in her sleep, and he was suddenly shaking Harry awake, half-shouting something, and turning away so he didn't have to see his sister without any clothes on. 

"Who's that?" Harry groaned, and then started when he saw Ron. "Oh shit. Shit. Hang on. Shit." 

He staggered out of bed and pulled some boxers on, while Ginny stirred tiredly and opened her eyes. 

"Oh shit," she said dismally, staring at Ron. "Merlin. Ron, what are you doing?"

"I can explain, OK?" Harry said rather desperately, facing him now and holding up a calming hand. Ron tried to control himself, but was having some trouble.

"Explain then," he said stiffly.   
Harry opened his mouth, but no words came out. He looked at Ginny, and she looked at him, and then both of them looked at Ron.

"This isn't your business, Ron," Ginny said, and Harry ran a hand through his hair.  

"No, no, no," he said. "No, that's not what she means."

"It is, Harry. It's exactly what I mean."

"How would you like it if someone told you your little sister shagging your best mate was none of your business?" he pointed out, and then turned back to Ron. "What she means is – er –"

"Go on," Ron said sharply, folding his arms over his chest. "Tell me."

"She's my girlfriend," Harry said.

"Yes, thanks for that, very enlightening," Ron replied acidly and Ginny sat up, sheet pulled up to cover her chest. 

"Ron, you're being an idiot. I love Harry, and we slept together and that's that, OK? It really _isn't _any of your business, and nobody's getting hurt, are they?"

"Are they?" Ron asked, meeting her eye, and she shook her head.

"No," she said quietly. "Nobody."

Ron looked back at Harry, who's expression was both wary and anxious. He was tall and lean, not the little boy he'd met on the Hogwarts Express in first year, and Ron had to remind himself that they were almost grown-ups now, and making decisions for themselves. 

"I love her too, Ron," he said, and glanced at Ginny. "I love you, too."

By the look that appeared on Ginny's face, Ron had a feeling he'd never said it before. She seemed about to speak, but didn't, and wrapped Harry's sheets more tightly around her body instead. Harry had his eyes on the floor now, one hand scratching the back of his head, and for some reason, Ron couldn't shout at either of them. 

"OK," he said. 

And with that, he walked out of the dorm, and spent the night on a common room lounge. 


	23. The Morning After

A/N: So suspicious of Mr Malfoy… What _is _he up to? :) … That last chapter was quite rushed, so I'm glad it was well-received. And yes, I had Harry and Ginny being walked in on – _again. _What can I say, I like it. It's like the broom-reconciliation. Classic plot-point. Well, read on. To use LavenderBrown's (frequent) words: naughtiness ahead (though nothing _too _crazy). ~sometimes I wish that I was the weather~ Shez

~

At seven o'clock, Ron was banging on Hermione's door (he wished he hadn't thought that word, 'banging') and shifting from foot to bare foot on the cold stone. He'd left his jumper and shoes in the dorm. After a little time, she opened up. Her hair was dishevelled and bushy, and she had dark not-enough-sleep marks under her eyes. 

"Ron," she said faintly. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"Have to talk to you. Are you awake?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," she said, and opened the door wider. "I am now."

He went in and flopped back on her unmade bed, sighing heavily. After a moment's pause, she sat on her bed too, by his feet. 

"What is it?" she asked, rubbing her face tiredly. 

"Harry and Ginny," Ron replied.

"Are those two still at school, then?" she said sarcastically, and he gave her a look. She shook her head. "Sorry. It's early. Tell me what happened."

"I saw them."

"Saw them what?"

"You know – in bed together."  
A long silence as Hermione's hand dropped away from her face, and her eyes literally widened. 

"In bed together?" she repeated finally. "What, in the middle of –"

"No, no," he said, cutting her off. "It was afterwards. After – you know."

"Are you sure?"

"They were naked. And then they told me."

"Oh." 

There was a long, uncomfortable silence, and then Hermione joined him lying down. He shifted over to give her some room, suddenly becoming aware of the fact that he'd simply taken over her bed (not her room, or her chair, but her _bed_) and that they were now on top of it together. 

"Ginny didn't say a word," Hermione wondered aloud. "Not one thing."

"Neither did Harry."

"And – do you think this was the first time?"

"I think so. I mean, I wouldn't know. But I think so, yes."

Another silence.

"What did you do?" she asked then. 

"I walked out," he admitted.

"Were you angry?"

"I don't know. At first, but then not really. I don't know. I think Harry's good for her actually."

"Or maybe she's good for Harry," Hermione corrected him. "I've never seen him happier than he is this year."

"True."

"And it _is _their decision."

"I know, I know." He put his hands over his face. "Still, it's a bit hard to take, knowing your best mate is having it off with your sister."

"Especially when you're not getting any yourself," she murmured, and now he turned his head to look at her. She was blushing and facing away. He remembered that she'd brought it up last night as well.

"You're really worried about this, aren't you?" he said. She half-shrugged and the movement made his heart clench. "I hate that."

"Forget I said it," she mumbled, and he touched her arm. 

"I don't – mind," he said awkwardly. "You know that, right?"

"Sure. I know." She met his eye briefly, and then wriggled a bit closer. "You said you think about it. Last night, that's what you said."

"Ah – yeah," he agreed, trying to stop his ears from flaming by force of will. "I do."

"You – think about sleeping with me?"

He nodded now, not really trusting himself to speak. Did he think about sleeping with her? It was all he wanted to do, most days. It took concentrated effort to turn his mind elsewhere. And the worst thing was, the more time he spent with her, the more he fell in love with her, and the more he wanted to _be _with her, properly. 

"I think about it too," she said then. 

They were looking at each other now, right in the eyes. Hers were such a heavy brown. Funny how he could have missed that before.

"You do?" he asked hoarsely. They were on their sides, facing each other, and in reply she slipped a hand beneath his shirt, and put it on his bare stomach. 

"I want to do something," she said uncertainly. "But I don't know if I can."

Her hand was moving lower. He bit his lip, eyes still on hers. He was turned on and anxious and desperate that she wouldn't do something she'd regret later.

"Hermione …" he said, almost warningly. Her hand was still moving, and Merlin, it was down his trousers now, and her fingers brushed against him. He knew he _had_ to speak then, before he lost the power of words.

 "Hermione," he tried again. "Don't – don't start this if you can't finish it, OK? Because – you'll drive me crazy – God –" 

"Right," she murmured, and unzipped his fly with her free hand. The relief of pressure was, well, a relief, but her other hand was still there, and inside his boxers now. 

"Shit," he gasped. "Hermione – don't do this – if you're not sure –"

"I am sure," she said, sounding more certain.

"And don't – just do it because of Harry and Ginny –"

"I'm not."

"And don't –"

"Ron," she said. "Shut up."

Gladly, he did so. He couldn't believe she was doing this, Head Girl Hermione, the least crazy person he knew, the least wild. And here she was, using her hands on him, making him sweat. 

"Jesus," he breathed. "Hermione."

She paused briefly. "Am I doing it right?" 

"For God's sake, don't stop."

She gripped him tighter, moving her hand just a little, and slowly. He almost lost it then, but managed to control himself. Why was she good at this? She continued to touch him as she pulled his pants off one leg and then the other with her free hand. He would have helped her, but was scared to move in case she stopped again.

He kept his gaze on her face. If he looked elsewhere, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stay sane. Hermione seemed to be concentrating. If he didn't know better, he'd think she was studying or something. Her hand was small and surprisingly firm. He had shivers running along his spine.

And then she warmed up, and sped up, and he didn't think or say much else that was coherent until a few minutes later. 

"God," he said on an exhale, falling back against her pillow. "I mean – Jesus."

She said nothing for a moment, and then moved so that she could see his face. "Was that OK?" she asked nervously, and he cupped the side of her face with one hand.

"That was the most OK thing ever," he said fervently. He pushed her hair back. "Shit. I can't believe you did that."

"Don't swear," she said softly. 

"Were you planning this?"

"No."

He was still trying to catch his breath, so just pulled her down beside him, her head on his shoulder. His thoughts were reeling drunkenly. 

"Where did you learn to do that?" he asked when he could, and she glanced at him indignantly. 

"I didn't," she said. "I was making it up as I went along. And – there are books about all of it, you know."

"There are? In the library?"

"In the library."

"I should read more," he said, and she nudged him. They lay in silence for some time, and when his pulse was a little slower, he kissed her sideways. "Thank you," he said. He meant it, more than he could say. "That was – thank you."

"You're welcome," she replied, rather shyly. He never saw Hermione shy, not these days. Not any day, really. It was strange and endearing, and he kissed her again – because he wanted to, and because he could. 

"What were you saying about Harry and Ginny?" she said. 

"I don't know," he replied honestly. "And right now, I don't really care."

Her slow grin following that announcement was undeniably cheeky.

Man, he loved this girl. 

~

They had a late breakfast that morning (it was Saturday), and Ron didn't even see Harry and Ginny until they went back to the common room. He and Hermione stayed very close. He felt like he didn't want to let her out of his sight for a while – he was too happy, too wrapped up in her. He almost didn't see Harry, in fact, because he was so busy watching his girlfriend, but in the end Harry called out to him.

"Hey."

Ron jumped. Harry was coming down the dormitory stairs, fully-clothed, hair still a mess. 

"Oh. Hi," he said. 

Harry came over and paused almost a metre from him. Hermione stood behind Ron's shoulder and watched, waiting for conversation.

"Ah – Ron –" Harry began, but Ron stopped him before he could launch into any speech. 

"Harry – it's OK."

Harry raised his eyebrows, and looked from Ron to Hermione.

"What did you say?" he asked, and Ron shrugged. 

"It's OK. You and Ginny I mean. You two can do what you want, as long as you're both alright. Mostly as long as _she's_ alright."

Harry didn't say anything, just went on looking from Ron to Hermione as though his friends had sprouted extra heads.

"What do you have to say about this?" he asked Hermione eventually. 

She glanced at Ron, and then shrugged herself. "I think Ron's right. It's not really any of our business, is it?"

There was a long silence, in which Harry frowned a bit suspiciously.

"So – you're saying you're not weirded out by all this?"

"Oh no," Ron said immediately. "I'm weirded out. And if you hurt her, I _will _kill you. But I can cope with the weirdness if I don't think about it too hard, and I'm pretty sure you won't hurt her."

"I won't," he agreed. 

"Well good," Ron said brightly. "We're going outside for a while."

Harry looked at them in disbelief. "It's February."

"So?"

"It's _freezing._"

"It's lovely," Hermione protested, but Harry shook his head. 

"No thanks. I'll stay in."

"What about Ginny?"

He looked embarrassed, despite everything they'd said. "Er – still asleep," he mumbled, and then scratched the back of his neck. "Are you guys OK?" he asked. 

They flushed simultaneously, and Hermione became very busy with her scarf and gloves. 

"Fine," Ron said quickly. 

"Mm-hm," said Hermione. "Fine."

Harry was clearly curious, but also (in Ron's opinion) too grateful not to be having a row about the events of the previous night to ask questions.

~

That night, Ron and Harry stayed up late by the Gryffindor fire. The girls had long since wandered off together amid giggles and whispers, and were probably in Hermione's room, talking about them. He mentioned this to Harry, who grimaced. 

"It makes me bloody nervous," he said. "The idea of girls talking about you after you just – you know."

"Ah," Ron commented delicately. "Right."

He'd had the same thought, but didn't voice it.

"I'm glad I don't have to hear the detailed commentary," Harry said, and sat back in his chair. Ron didn't ask anything else. It didn't matter if he agreed it wasn't his business – he still didn't want to hear about his sister having sex. 

"What about you?" Harry said suddenly, and Ron glanced at him.

"What about me, what?"

"How did your Valentine evening go?"

"Oh – not bad. She liked it."

"Good." Harry was still watching him sidelong. "And what happened this morning?"

"What do you mean?"

"You were just kind of happy, is all."

Ron considered telling him, but in the end decided (to even _his _surprise) that he didn't want to. 

"I am happy," was his eventual reply. "I love having her around so much."

"I know," Harry said. "I can see it. You're not paying much attention in class, are you?"  
Ron sighed. "That's bad. I have to work for N.E.W.T.s. Maybe I should get Hermione to tutor me again."

Harry snorted. "For some reason, I don't think her 'tutoring' is going to get you very far."

"Shut it," he commented lazily, and then remembered something. "Hey, Malfoy spoke to me yesterday."

"He did?"

"Yeah. Apologised for coming onto Hermione."

"Eh?"

"I know."

"I've never heard Malfoy apologise. Maybe once. Never to you."

"I know. I don't fucking trust him, Harry."

"Settle down," Harry said, in as calming a voice as he could muster up. "He probably is sick of all the tension and just wants to get over it."

"I don't think so. It's giving me the willies."

"Well, we'll keep an eye on him," Harry sighed. "How about that?"

"Right. A good eye. He'd better bloody behave himself."

"I think he will," Harry said confidently. "He's a different guy than he used to be."

Ron was about to protest when there was a sound from somewhere in the school grounds – a sort of _thwomp_, followed by a single, sharp bark. It was definitely coming from outside rather than the corridors, and neither Ron or Harry paused to discuss it. They both ran for the nearest window and stuck their heads out into the cold air. 

"I can't see anything," Ron said, confused, but then Harry was punching him in the shoulder and smiling widely. 

"Merlin," he breathed, and sprinted away and out of the common room.

"Harry!" Ron called, bemused, and then turned back to the window to see whatever Harry had. 

It was then that he spotted it. 

The _thwomp _had been Hagrid's door slamming open. The bark had been Fang's return. There was a light shining from inside the gamekeeper's hut and even at this distance Ron could see the pair of huge fur boots that had been left in the doorway. 

Hagrid was back at Hogwarts.


	24. Return to Reality

A/N: Thanks for all your welcomes, I'm glad to be back too. Yes, Hermione was rather forward (so was I! You know how 'safe' I usually am, I quite surprised myself – and sorry about the porn Meegs, hehe). Anyway, read on. ~nm3x5s~ Shez … PS – Woohoo, SweetestThing, my Aussie buddy! How weird to hear fanfic people talking about Rove, Cat Empire, etc.! PPS – Trav, Trav, Trav. Ron doesn't _know_ what happens privately between Ginny and Harry, and therefore neither do you (or even I). You must accept this, padawan, as a fact of this fic, and take what you receive. *grin* Don't worry. My next fic will be HG, and then you can have the 'whole story' to your heart's content. 

~

Ron made sure he fetched Hermione from her room (the second night in a row he'd woken her) before he went out into the grounds. He considered asking Ginny, but remembered that boys couldn't get up to the girls' dormitory, and decided not to try. She could find out in the morning.

He brought Harry's invisibility cloak with him, and managed to hustle a very sleepy Hermione underneath it and into the cold air, explaining all the way. She soon woke up with the news, and they were striding out to Hagrid's hut, Hermione moving even faster than his long legs.

Once they were reached the door (which was slightly ajar) and Ron pushed it open, the first thing they saw was Hagrid's wide, dirty back. He was facing the fire, his hulking form hunched over, and Harry was sitting by his side. 

Hermione broke into a very wide smile – the kind that she used rarely, but which never ceased to make him smile too – and half-ran to the gamekeeper. 

"Hagrid," she said, trying to be quiet, and mostly failing. He started and turned, and Hermione stopped in her tracks. He looked awful. His face was a mess of bruises and dried blood, and his eyes were sunken back into his head. His nose looked broken, and when he managed a sort of smile, Ron realised that his lips were cracked with cold and old wounds.

"Oh my God," Hermione breathed. 

"'Mione," Hagrid said hoarsely. "Hello, love."

"Oh my God," she repeated, biting back a sob now. She moved quickly to him and put her arms around his neck, and he, very slowly, returned her hug. He seemed uncertain, as though he hadn't touched anybody in a long time. When she let go of him, he put his hands back on his knees immediately. 

Ron was still in the doorway, but came forward now and stood behind Hermione, who was kneeling at Hagrid's feet. 

"Fuck me," he said softly, and Hermione didn't even correct him. 

"No welcome?" Hagrid joked weakly, and Ron shook his head. 

"I'm sorry. Welcome back. I mean – just – what happened?"

"Wha' happened?" Hagrid muttered. "Tha's a very long story, Ron Weasley."

"Tell it," Harry said shortly. Ron glanced at him. His eyes were on the floor, but on profile he looked unbelievably tense and angry; the muscles of his face were almost twitching. 

"Alrigh'," Hagrid said, so quietly Ron had to lean forward to hear. He tightened his grip on Hermione's shoulder and she put her hands on Hagrid's in encouragement. 

At just that moment, the door opened once more, and Lupin, Dumbledore, Snape and McGonagall came striding in. Dumbledore looked composed, Snape looked grouchy, McGonagall looked like she hadn't done her hair (no surprise, if she'd come straight from sleep) and Lupin had that now-familiar pinch of worry at the corner of his eyes.

"Potter," Snape snarled, "you're out of bed."

"So are we," Ron protested. 

"Let them be, Severus," Dumbledore said. "They've been as fearful for their friend as the rest of us."

Ron hated himself, very briefly. The truth was, he'd given up on Hagrid, and in these past months had almost forgotten about him. Every now and again, his memories would rise up, and he'd push them down again so that he wouldn't have to remember Hagrid and the fact that he wasn't around. 

Now he had to remember him, and it made him feel guilty that he'd been trying not to.

But nobody was watching the three of them now. They all had their gazes fixed on Hagrid, who seemed to be trying not to cry. 

"Oh Hagrid," Dumbledore said, in a gruff voice that was quite unlike his own. 

At that point, Hagrid broke down and wept. 

Ron didn't know what to do. He hovered uncertainly, even as Hermione stroked Hagrid's hands, and Dumbledore swept forward to embrace the big man. Lupin moved to Harry and put a hand on his shoulder. Harry shrugged it off, but Lupin stayed where he was. 

"I'll fetch Madame Pompfrey," McGonagall said gravely, and left. Snape remained in the doorway, his expression unchanging. 

When Hagrid's tears had slowed somewhat, Dumbledore released him and looked hard at Harry, then Ron, then Hermione. 

"I'd ask you to return to your respective rooms," he said, "but I think it's important that you hear this. That we all hear this. Particularly you, Harry."

Harry didn't move. He still would not look up. 

And, with Dumbledore's coaxing, the whole story did come out. 

Hagrid had gone to see the giants again, they all knew that, but this time without Madame Maxime – he'd had a falling out with her some time before. He travelled confidently, and finally reached his half-brother Grawp's clan (Grawp having been transported back to his traditional community earlier). All was going along nicely for months, and Hagrid was just beginning to consider his return to Hogwarts, when other events came into play. 

There were new arrivals at the giants' camp – Death Eaters attempting to convert the giants completely to the side of Voldemort. Where Hagrid had offered sensible reasoning and promises of reconciliation with the wizarding world if they joined Dumbledore's Army, _they_ offered precious gifts and promises of lordship over wizards and Muggles alike. Hagrid was able to remain out of sight when the Death Eater emissaries made their various pleas, and planned a quiet escape, but in the end was spotted and recognised – just as the giant leader had decided to join Voldemort. 

It was extremely poor timing. 

Hagrid was kept in a cave, alone, and interrogated constantly. They attempted to draw from him all the things he knew about Hogwarts and Harry. He gave them tidbits when he had to, but was able to retain most secrets. They beat him – Dumbledore couldn't get much out of Hagrid in terms of details, but it seemed that the violence went on quite constantly for the several months of his confinement. 

Finally, Hagrid had managed to contact Grawp, and his half-brother had snuck him out under cover of darkness. He'd been making his way back to Hogwarts ever since. 

When he'd finished his long and horrible account, Hagrid sat back in his chair, trembling, and wouldn't say another word. Dumbledore was very still for a time, and then stood abruptly. 

"Poppy," he said, and Madame Pompfrey scooted out of the shadows.

"Yes, Headmaster?"

"You and Severus can help Hagrid up to the Infirmary. Put him in a bed, and then let him sleep."

"I wouldn't want him to do anything else," she said firmly. She and Snape put an arm each around him and helped him to his feet, walking in the direction of the door. 

"Minerva?" Dumbledore went on.

"Albus?"

"See that the dog has water and food."  
She didn't bat an eyelid, but followed Snape and Pomfrey outside.

Now Dumbledore looked at Lupin. 

"Remus, I want you to take Harry to my office. I need to speak with him."

"Of course."

Harry stood then and walked off himself, without a goodbye. A few moments later, Lupin went after him, and Dumbledore turned to Ron and Hermione.

"I suggest," he said gently, "that you go to bed, now."

"But Professor, can't we know what's going to happen?" Ron asked shakily, surprising himself with his own daring. Dumbledore shook his head again, rather sadly. 

"Not now," he said. "In the morning, perhaps, but not now."

"But –"

"Mr Weasley," he interrupted. "Ms Granger is too tired to keep her eyes open. Please escort her back to her rooms."

Ron bit her lip, and then forced the necessary reply. "Yes, Professor Dumbledore."

He put an arm about Hermione's waist and she stood silently. She'd been crying, and he didn't know what to do – that was the one thing that always made him feel useless, girls crying, especially her. He found it strange that she didn't have things to say, or opinions to offer about all this, but didn't question her. He just walked her out.

The last thing he saw was Dumbledore standing by the fire, his straight back slowly slouching. He seemed old suddenly, and Ron found that thought so unsettling that he quickly shut the door and marched his girlfriend up to the castle. 

~

He'd never seen Hermione like this. It was like she was half-comatose or something, seeing Hagrid so messed up. At least, he thought that must be it. He literally had to put her to bed – take off her shoes, pull back the covers, lay her down, and pull them back up again. He hesitated at her side, then quickly kissed her cheek and made to leave, ready to think about all of it in peace. 

"Ron …" she said, just as he was walking away. He turned, and saw her watching him. 

"Hey," he returned softly. "Maybe you should sleep."

"Come here."

"Alright."

She sat up, and he moved onto her bed, beside her. There was a relatively extended silence. 

"Hagrid looked awful," she said eventually.

"I know. But he's OK now."

"Nothing's OK now."

"What do you mean?"

"This is it. This is where it starts again."

Ron glanced about the room, half expecting things to leap out at him. "What 'it'?" he asked, and she frowned impatiently. 

"Don't pretend like Voldemort doesn't exist," she said. "I hate it."

Ah. Voldemort. 

"I don't pretend he doesn't exist," he said defensively, and she raised her eyebrows at him. 

"Really? Say his name then."

"I – don't want to."

"There you are."

"I just don't feel like it!"

"_Ron._ Don't you see? The Death Eaters went to the giants, and now have them on side. They've probably been to see all Voldemort's old allies too. It's not like Hagrid escaped without them knowing."

"Eh?"

"They _let _him. So we'd know they were moving up in the world when he came home to us."

"Hermione, that's bloody stupid."

"Don't –" she began, and he cut her off. 

"Don't _don't _me OK? You're making this something it isn't."

"I'm not, Ron. This is what it is. We've had the whole of last year and half of this one as a kind of reprieve, and that's all we get until he's gone. It's going to happen soon. I feel it."

"You feel it," he scoffed uneasily. "That's – that's ridiculous."

"You do too," she said softly. "You just don't want to admit it."

Another long silence in which Hermione fiddled with her pyjamas, and Ron tried to compose himself to speak properly. 

"'Mione," he said eventually, "maybe you're right. Maybe he is coming back. But we always knew he would, didn't we?"

She nodded silently, and, seeing this, he continued. 

"Right. We knew that. And you're right – I have been pretending he doesn't exist this year. I was thinking too much about other things. About – I don't know, being a kid, enjoying myself. Being with you. And now that Hagrid's back and all these 'signs' of You-Know-Who are coming out … well, I don't want to change the way I live."

"We'll have to," she commented soberly. 

"We'll have to be more ready," he conceded. "And more wary and all that. But I mean I don't want to stop – enjoying life, just because he's around. He'd love that, wouldn't he?"

The silence this time was the longest of all, and then Hermione moved onto his lap. It surprised him for a second, and then she was so pleasantly warm that he forgot to feel surprised. Her arms went around his waist. 

"I'm scared for you," she murmured. 

"What? Why?"

"Because," she said, her voice almost completely muffled in his shirt. "I've said it before. Wherever Harry goes, you'll go. You're just that kind of guy."

"What, a follower?" he said, rather bitterly, and she shook her head against his chest. 

"No. A friend. The best kind." 

"Is that what you were thinking about before?"

"Yes. A bit." She looked up at him. "Why do you have to be so bloody noble?"

He blinked at her a few moments, and then nudged her with his knee. "No swearing, young lady," he said, "or I'll have you out on your ear."  
She sighed in reply, and they sat like that until she began to fall asleep again, and he put her back into bed. 

~

Ron lay thinking about Voldemort's imminent return and Hagrid being tortured (big Hagrid, who nobody but a supporter of You-Know-Who would ever have the arrogance to mess with) and Harry's strangeness and Lupin's obvious, near-parental anxiety. In fact, it filled his head up with so much doubt and fear, despite his brave words to Hermione, that he had to force himself to stop. He was just considering turning in when Harry came through the door. He pulled his curtains all the way open and beckoned to him, and Harry automatically moved to speak to him – that's how it looked anyway, automatic, like people saying 'ouch' when they hurt themselves.

"Hi," Ron said. 

"Hi."

An awkward pause followed this. 

"At least Hagrid's back, hey?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed dully. "That's great."

"And – and everything's going to be fine for him."

"I guess so."

"And –"

"Ron," Harry said loudly, and Ron stopped. Dean Thomas shifted in bed, and mumbled something. They both ignored him. 

"What?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh. Right. Sorry, mate." He paused. "You don't even want to talk about – er, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"I don't fucking want to talk about it," Harry repeated, more forceful. "So don't."

Ron tried not take offence at this, and succeeded – just. 

"OK," he said. "Goodnight."

Harry went to his own bed, changed into pyjamas, and got under the covers. Ron listened to the darkness, and finally Harry spoke again. 

"Let's have a quidditch practice tomorrow," he said. 

Ron turned his head to try and see his friend, but it was too dim in their room. "What, tomorrow? It's still only February."

"Season starts up again in March," said Harry. "We'll be early."

"Er – OK."

"After breakfast. I'll tell the team."

"Sure, Harry. We'll do it."

An hour later, Ron couldn't keep his eyes open – but he still hadn't heard Harry's breath slow from wakefulness to sleep when he drifted off.


	25. Let Life Roll On

A/N: Sorry, am sick right now, and my writing-brain wouldn't work last night. I think I overdosed it with Soothers cough drops. Must stop eating them before I actually turn into a blackberry. Here we go. ~longlive83~ Shez … PS – First day of summer/winter! Hello, new world!

~

"I hate playing Ravenclaws," Ron mumbled. "Have you seen my scarf?"

"Why do you hate playing them?" Hermione asked, lifting it from the back of her desk-chair and slinging it over one of his shoulders. 

"Because. They're so bloody – smug."

"Right."

It was the middle of March, a month since Hagrid's return, and Ron had come to Hermione's room to escort her down to the quidditch pitch. So far Gryffindor had won against Slytherin and Hufflepuff. Slytherin had beaten Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Gryffindor were now playing Ravenclaw. According to Harry, if they won this game, they took out the Quidditch Cup right away. If they lost, Slytherin and Gryffindor would play in a grand final. 

Ron never really understood the progression of quidditch from quarters to semis to finals, and so on. He let Harry do the work. 

And Harry _was _doing the work. He'd thrown himself back into quidditch with a passion that was almost frightening. He seemed to be flying every day, practice or no, and at odd hours. When Ron asked him why, he said he was just keeping in shape. He and Ginny had a massive row one night because he'd gone flying in heavy rain, without telling anybody where he'd disappeared. 

Sometimes, Ron would look at him, and the expression in his eyes was both hard and desperate. The weight of responsibility lay heavy on his shoulders. He was frequently depressed and snappy. 

Ginny did her best, but Ron knew she was worried about Harry too. She didn't seem to be sleeping very well, and Hermione told him that she'd burst into tears one night and sobbed her heart out for half an hour before assuring Hermione that absolutely nothing was wrong. 

Ron hated that lie. Something was definitely fucking wrong here. It was changing everything, and its name was Voldemort.

"You ready?" Hermione asked, standing on tiptoes to plant a kiss on his forehead. 

"Yeah. Crappy – er, not very nice weather for it."

Hermione ignored his slip and glanced out the window, nodding. It was gloomily overcast. At least the snow was gone. 

"What can you do?" she said, and Ron shrugged. 

They made their way downstairs in the direction of the Great Hall. Hermione was rather quiet, and Ron was just about to ask her if anything was the matter when she turned and asked: "Have you noticed something different about Malfoy lately?"

He physically paused, but recovered quickly enough to keep in step with her.

"What do you mean?"

She sighed. "I know you're not exactly best friends …"

Ron snorted, and she ignored this too. 

"But you always seem to be in one another's paths," she continued. "So maybe you know something. I just – I don't know. He's very withdrawn. He's always showing up late for patrol and saying he forgot. He won't look me in the eye when he speaks to me, either. It's just – strange, is all."

Ron chewed his lip. Maybe Malfoy, for once in his nasty life, had actually followed through on his promise. He'd backed off Hermione, and to tell the truth, he'd backed off Ron and Harry as well. He _was _withdrawn – and it was fantastic. 

"I don't know," Ron said vaguely. "I haven't been paying much attention."  
At that moment, they came out into the sunlight, and Ron saw the crowds streaming down to the pitch. 

"I think I'm late. Got to go, love." He kissed her swiftly, and then strode down to the pitch and the change-rooms on long legs. Harry was already in his robes and tapping one foot with almost comical impatience. 

"Sorry," Ron said breathlessly, and Harry spun about.

"You're late."

"I know. I said sorry."

"Get changed, we've got ten minutes."

Ron made the fastest change of his life, and when he was done found the entire team huddled around Harry for the pre-game pep talk. Ron joined the circle, not wanting to miss out, and discovered that Harry wasn't saying anything. He was just standing there, silent. 

"Harry …" Ginny began uncertainly, and then Harry stepped back. 

"I don't want to speak this morning," he said abruptly. "Just play hard, and stay focussed. Come on, let's go."  
He moved out into the corridor, Ginny at his side, Ron close behind. Ginny was murmuring to Harry, and though he felt somewhat awkward, Ron couldn't avoid overhearing. 

"Are you OK?"

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

"I'm fine_._"

"Harry, why won't you talk to me?"

Harry stopped walking and faced her. "Don't hassle me," he said loudly. "I hate it. I don't want to talk to you. Just leave me alone."

He went on out to the pitch, the rest of the team trailing uncomfortably behind, while Ginny remained where she was, eyes on the ground. Ron stayed with her until he heard McGonagall's voice echoing out over the stands, announcing the game's beginning. 

"Hey, Gin," he said softly. "We've really got to go."

"I know." She looked up, and there were tears at the corner of her eyes, but also a grim determination. "Sorry. Come on."

She made for the field at a half-run, and Ron had to wonder, as he followed her, just how long Ginny would be able to stand Harry's uncommunicative bad temper. 

~

The game was going well, for the most part. Alice was a little off-form, and Harry nearly got into a fight with a Ravenclaw beater when Ginny took a blow to the head, but apart from that, things were great. 

In fact, Ron was just beginning to get comfortable when he suddenly saw the Snitch. It was hovering just by the right goalpost, practically begging to be caught. He knew it wouldn't stick there for long, and immediately glanced around for Harry, hoping that he was nearby. He was in luck – Harry was floating to his left. 

"Pst! Oi!" Ron hissed. 

Harry made no reaction, and the Snitch fled. Ron sighed.

"Hey, Harry," he said, and still, no reaction. Odd. Usually Harry's senses were completely attuned to every movement and sound during quidditch.

Ron flew closer, hoping the Ravenclaw's weren't heading his way, and frowned at his friend. Harry's face was blank – his eyes looked almost glazed over. He was motionless too, only his broom bobbing slightly in the updraught. 

Ron, worried now, moved near enough to poke Harry in the leg, even as a bludger went flying past the both of them.

Harry 'woke' immediately. He seemed startled and disoriented for a few seconds, and then swore and was himself, spinning away from Ron and out over the pitch. 

It was only a few moments of distraction, but it was enough. Ravenclaw caught the Snitch twenty seconds later. 

~

"It doesn't matter, mate," Ron said. 

Someone had organised an After Quidditch Party (in anticipation of their win, Ron thought, but they obviously hadn't wanted to cancel the food), and they were sitting in the common room with glasses of Butterbeer. Hermione and Ginny were nowhere in sight.

"Yes it does," Harry muttered.

"It doesn't."

"It does."

"We're still in the final."

"We should have won today."

"But we didn't, tough shit."

"It's my fault."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Harry," Ron snapped. He couldn't stand it when Harry did this. "What's wrong with you?"

Harry was silent for a moment. 

"Nothing," he muttered eventually, and took a long swig of beer. 

"Nothing? Right. _Nothing _is what's making you so hard to live with. This is like being back in fifth year."

"Sorry, I was a little preoccupied in fifth year, what with people dying and all," Harry said angrily, but Ron cut him off. 

"Don't give me that," he said. "We all had stuff happening then. What about us with Percy? It's bullshit. You're scared now, and that's OK, but don't take it out on your friends, or yourself, and especially not on Ginny."

"I'm not –" Harry began, but again Ron wouldn't let him finish.

"You know she was crying her eyes out the other night?"

Harry looked away for a while, and then back at Ron. "Was she?" he asked hoarsely, and Ron nodded. He felt almost exhausted with these revelations. Harry was frowning and shaking his head slightly.

"I just don't want to talk about it," he said. "And she doesn't understand."

"It's not like you explain," Ron pointed out.

They sat in silence for some time, and then Harry abruptly stood and walked off. Ron presumed (well, hoped) that he was going to look for Ginny and apologise, and settled back in his chair just as Hermione threw herself down beside him. He jumped and nearly spilt his beer. 

"Sorry," she said absently, taking it out of his hand and putting it on the floor. "Did I see you speaking to Harry?"

"Yeah. I gave him what-for."

"You did?"

"Well, kinda. I mentioned Ginny crying."

"Ron!" she said, and slapped him.

"Ow, what?"

"That's private!"

"Well, he got up nearly right away to find her."

"Oh. Did he?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Good, then." She paused, and pushed hair out of her face. "What happened today?"

"With Harry?"

"I don't know. You two were just strange all afternoon."

Ron shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. It's like he stopped paying attention to the game, at one point, and when he started again, it was too late and they had the Snitch."

"Harry?" she said disbelievingly. "Not paying attention in quidditch?"

"Seems so. I think he's really screwed up about this whole Voldemort coming back thing."

"Oh, you think?" she said sarcastically, and he pointed a finger at her. 

"Be nice."

Hermione sighed. "There's something behind it all, though," she said quietly. "There's something he's not telling us."

Ron watched her. He loved it when she got all serious and thoughtful. She didn't even notice his eyes on her, but went on staring at the carpet. Sometimes he'd see her like this, and all he'd want to do was kiss her – kiss her, and then maybe take her clothes off, and carry her all the way to her room –

He stopped himself quickly. It was best not to go there, especially in a public place.

"I think you're right," he said, clearing his throat. 

Hermione took a sip of his Butterbeer, and then put the glass back on the ground. 

"Want to go to my room?" she asked, and he raised his eyebrows, recalling his mild fantasy of a few moments before. She flushed briefly. "Not for that. I want to show you my letter to your mother."

Ron practically fell off his seat. "My – my mother?"

She nodded innocently. "Yes. What's the problem?"

"You're writing to my _mother_?"

"Just this one letter."  
He narrowed his eyes. "It's not about me, is it?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake. Yes, Ron, I'm reporting you to your parents."

"Don't joke about that!" he said, alarmed. "What's this letter for?"

"She wrote to ask if I wanted to come on holidays with all of you in the summer, to stay at the Burrow and then go on to Bristol, maybe."

"Really?"

"I'm replying now."

"Are you – accepting?"

"If that's alright with you."

He broke into a slow grin. "'Mione, having you along would be the best part of the holiday."

"Right," she said, breathing out. She seemed relieved. "I wondered how to bring it up."

"What, you really thought I wouldn't want you there?"

"No. I don't know. I don't know – what you're family would think – of you and me –" She trailed off uncertainly, and Ron blinked at her.

"My family _loves _you," he said confusedly. "What are you talking about?"

"OK, OK." She hesitated. "And I feel a bit strange too, organising anything – when we don't even know if we'll be able to follow through with all our plans."

"Because of Voldemort?" She nodded, and he nudged her. "Remember what I said about not letting him ruin our lives?"  
Hermione nodded again, and rubbed her nose a little before standing up. 

Well, come on, you have to read my reply and see if it's alright."

"It'll be alright."

"Ron. Humour me, and read it anyway."  
~

In the hall, they bumped into Lupin. He seemed very flustered. His hair was sticking up from running his hands through it.

"Oh, Hermione. And Ron. Hello."

"Hello, Professor," they said, in near unison, but Lupin didn't appear to be listening.

"Yes, have you seen Harry?"

"Harry?" Hermione looked at Ron, who looked at Lupin. 

"I spoke to him a little while ago, sir," he said. "I don't know where he's got to. Why?"

"He was supposed to see Dumbledore and I tonight," Lupin said vaguely. "Very important meeting."

"Defence-related?" Hermione asked, and now Lupin glanced at her, quite sharply. 

"Yes, actually. Defence-related." He clenched his jaw. "I can't believe he's forgotten. If you see him, will you send him to Dumbledore's office please?"

"Of course."

Lupin walked briskly away, and Ron and Hermione met eyes. 

Neither of them imagined that Harry had forgotten. He just didn't want to think about Voldemort.

~

Later that night, returning from Hermione's room and some extended snogging, Ron – in a bit of a post-make-out daze – got turned around somehow, and ended up passing the Room of Requirement. He would have gone on but he could hear something happening inside, and stopped to make sure it was nothing untoward, his Prefect conscience rising up unexpectedly. 

Thank Merlin he didn't go in. Within about two seconds, he'd identified the voices as Harry's and Ginny's, and the sounds as being the sounds of – well – 

He hurried on back to the dorm. Harry and Ginny may have patched things up, but he was pretty sure they wouldn't appreciate his lurking about in the corridor. He'd ask Harry about his missed appointment with Lupin and Dumbledore in the morning … and let him enjoy life for a while tonight. 

--


	26. Comfort

A/N: Sorry, still sick as a dog, and writing is hard at the moment. Am doing my utmost, please bear with me, and thanks for your reviews and encouragement. ~here comes the cold~ Shez … PS – Patience is a virtue, skeleton_in_the_closet, but you won't have to wait much longer. Sex stuff ahead. Think I've earned my R rating. S.

 ~

At breakfast the next morning, Harry and Ginny were quiet, and Ron felt decidedly awkward. Hermione seemed unconcerned – of course, she hadn't been close to walking in on her little sister doing the deed (for the second bloody time) last night. 

"Are you OK?" she asked him at one point. He looked at her. Her expression was a mixture of puzzlement and questioning. 

"Er – yes," he said, and thrust the Room of Requirement from his mind. "Fine. Harry?"

His friend paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. 

"Yeah?"

"We bumped into Lupin last night. Didn't we 'Mione?"

"That's right," she said, after a moment's silence. "We did."

"And?" asked Harry.

"He said you missed an appointment with him and Dumbledore, and that if we saw you, we should remind you about it."

There was another silence, and then Harry continued eating. "Thanks," he said with his mouth full. 

"Why didn't you go?" Ginny asked quietly, and Harry swallowed before he spoke. 

"I didn't feel like it," he replied, in equally low tones. "So I didn't. Besides, I was with you."

Ginny bit her lip, and then nodded and turned back to her food.

"Well – don't you think you ought to have let Lupin know, then?" Hermione said. 

Ron looked sharply at her, but she had her eyes on Harry.

"No, I don't think so," Harry said. 

"Why not?"

"They just want to tell me more shit about Voldemort, and how I have a responsibility to defend myself, and all that rot."

"It's not rot, Harry," Hermione said indignantly. "They have a point."

"You try having everybody make their _point _to you, Hermione, and see how you like it," he snapped. 

"What's going on?" Seamus asked, very cheerily, from the other end of the table. They ignored him. 

"It's not about liking anything, Harry," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "It's what you said, responsibility."

Harry eyed her, and then his plate. "You have no idea about my responsibilities," he muttered. Ginny put a hand on his arm, and he let her for a few moments before gently shifting it away. Then he stood and walked out. 

"Oh dear," Hermione said. 

"Thank you very much," said Ginny acidly. "Just when he was starting to settle down again, you have to stir him up."

"Ginny, I wasn't! I thought he should consider his actions and …"

"Spare the lecture," Ginny cut in, and left too.

Hermione turned to Ron, who shook his head. 

"What?" she said, anguished. "I was just trying to help!"

"That wasn't helping."

"Now they all hate me."

"Don't be stupid. Nobody could hate you."

"Oh – shut up, Ron!" she said loudly, and nearly tipped her chair over as she left.

Ron finished his breakfast alone, wondering (not for the first time) how exactly things had gotten to this place. 

~

It was a miserable day. Classes dragged interminably. Harry wasn't speaking to Hermione, and Hermione wasn't speaking to Ron or Harry. They sat as a silent, tense trio. A few times she opened her mouth, on the verge of an apology (to one or either of the boys, he wasn't sure), but never actually came out with it. 

It was ridiculous. Even Ron, the eternally oblivious, could see that. 

They had a quidditch practice in the afternoon, on Harry's insistence. They didn't do much _real _work, but flew over the pitch fairly aimlessly. Ginny and Harry had a talk by the goalposts. Trust quidditch players to sort their relationship issues above ground. In the end, Ron saw her say something, Harry nod, Ginny say something else, Harry say something and smile, Ginny smile, and then he chased her around the left goalpost. They seemed to be on track again, anyway, and for that, Ron was grateful. He couldn't imagine how uncomfortable the rest of the year might be if the two of them broke up. 

In fact, Harry was so strangely himself at dinner that Ron had almost forgotten about Hermione's part in the argument that morning. He only realised that she _still _hadn't turned up when he reached for seconds, and didn't hear a word from her. 

"Hey. Where's 'Mione?"

"What?" Ginny said, at the tail-end of a laugh. Harry had his arm around her and was murmuring in her ear. "Stop it," she said, and then looked at Ron again. "Sorry, what?"

"Have you seen Hermione?"

"No. I thought you knew where she was."

"She didn't say anything to me."

"She didn't?"

"No. She's probably upset about this morning." Ron looked briefly at Harry, who sighed. 

"Do you think so?"

"Yeah, I think so. She felt really bad."

"She doesn't have to. I overreacted. I'll go and apologise in the morning."

"Good. She's only trying to help."

"I know. But sometimes – well, sometimes I don't want Hermione's help."

"She can't help it," Ron said. His hand hovered over the shepherd's pie serving spoon, but he found, suddenly, that he didn't want any. "I'm going to find her."

"What, now?"

He nodded and pushed out his chair. "I'll see you later."

"Sure. We've got a DA meeting tonight."

"Oh yeah. I forgot. OK, see you there."

"Bye."  
He strode out of the Hall. She could be any number of places – the library, her rooms – and he was pausing to consider where to try first when he heard the door creak open and wet footsteps on the stone floor. He turned, and it was her. It was pouring outside and she was soaking wet and shivering. She still hadn't seen him as she shut the door. 

"Hermione," he called, and she spun about.

"Hey," she said weakly. 

"Hey yourself," he replied, trying not to be angry and/or overprotective. "What exactly are you doing?"

"I went down to see Hagrid."

"And you couldn't think of a bloody water-repellent charm or something?"

"I left my wand in my room."

"You _what?_"

"Oh, it doesn't matter," she said impatiently, moving past him and up the stairs. 

"It does matter," he insisted, following her. "You can't just go off without telling us. And you can't go anywhere without your wand these days."

"I thought you didn't want us to change," she retorted snidely, and he moved up the next two steps so fast that he was suddenly ahead and facing her. 

"I don't. But you should be careful."

She stared at her feet for a while, and then nodded. 

"OK. Fine. I'll be more careful."

He came a step down, closer to her. "You must be freezing."

"I'm not too bad," she said, but a drop of water slid down her neck as she spoke, and her skin came up in goosebumps. She started upstairs, and he walked with her. 

~

Hermione's room was the same as ever – books piled everywhere, and most things in their place, but with areas of vague disorder. She was fond of hanging things over the back of her chair, and of leaving shoes by the doorway.  

She went in first, and he followed, closing the door behind them. By now she was hugging herself to stay warm, and Ron would have dried her off with a spell, but (hypocritically enough) hadn't brought his own wand with him, and didn't want to tell her. 

"Shall I fetch a towel?" Ron asked, as she went rummaging through her desk drawer for her wand. 

"It's alright. I just have to – here it is."

"I'll get one," he said. "You'll still be cold."

He made his way into the bathroom. It smelt warm and soapy in there, and a little bit like her as well. Her toothbrush and paste were in a cup by the sink, and her towel was on a rack on her shower door. He picked it up and walked back into the room, about to say something, but the words immediately left him when he saw that she'd performed a drying spell on herself, and was taking off her still slightly damp clothes to put on pyjamas. Her back was to him. For a few seconds he stood exactly where he was, watching her, feeling ridiculous, unable to say a word as she pulled on her shirt, but then he forced himself to continue. 

"Er – do you still need this?" he asked, holding out the towel, and she turned. Her top few buttons were undone, and he could see the necklace he'd given her glinting against her skin. 

"Not really, but thank you."

"Aren't you going down to dinner?"

"Not hungry," she said, and sat cross-legged on the end of her bed. He put her towel on her desk-chair and moved to sit on the bed's edge beside her. She was still shivering, and he put his arm around her. 

"Why don't you get your dressing gown on?" he asked quietly, and she shrugged.

"I hate when people are angry at me," she said, after a silence, and he looked quickly at her. 

"What?"

"I said –"

"I heard. Nobody's angry at you."

"Yes they are," she mumbled. "Ginny and Harry, and you were, too."

"No I wasn't. You made that up. And Ginny and Harry are fine now." He leant against her briefly. "You know Harry these days. He's a mess – and so's Ginny with fretting about him. Why do you take it all to heart? You never used to."

"I don't know," she said. "I feel different now. I worry, all the time. I'm scared to argue now in case – oh, I don't know, in case the person I'm fighting with disappears the next morning and I never see them again."

He blinked at her. "That's a bit morbid," he said eventually, and she shrugged again, helplessly.

"I know. We live in morbid times."

"You shouldn't think like that."

"Well, shouldn't is no good to me, I can't help it," she snapped, and then bit her lip. "Sorry."

"Forgiven." He said nothing for a moment, and then had to resist the urge to stamp his foot on the ground as he spoke through gritted teeth. "Bloody Voldemort."

Hermione looked sidelong at him. "You know, you said his name."

"Yeah, I know. Just now."

"No," she said, and he tried to meet her eye, but she'd turned away again. "You said it before as well. You didn't even notice."

"Really?"

"Mm-hm."

"Oh." He raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. "I guess the name isn't so important then."

"No."

There was another silence, longer this time. He felt somehow tense and was acutely aware of her body beside him, the scent of her drying hair, her knee against his. He had his eyes on the carpet now, and was on the verge of saying something just to keep the conversation moving when he felt her shift, and then kiss his neck, softly. 

He didn't want to do or say anything anymore, in case she stopped, but she didn't show a sign of slowing down. She kissed his neck all over, and then his chin and his lips, her tongue touching his; she tasted like rainwater and salt. 

Carefully, he moved so that he was facing her better, and slid one hand to the back of her neck, the other hovering for a while (he never knew quite what to do with it), before he placed it on her hip. He was a bit mad, almost, with wanting her, and he could feel himself trembling with the effort of restraint. 

They kissed on and on, and then she sighed into his mouth and lay back on her bed, pulling him with her. Her hair fanned out in a mess against the covers, but he loved it, and put his free hand (the indecisive one) into her curls. 

"Ouch," she murmured against his lips, and he took the hand away.

"Sorry," he breathed, but she was kissing him again, and 'sorry's didn't really seem important at that point. 

This was different to the usual make-outs. He didn't know how to define the difference exactly – it was more on edge, less easy, more serious, and he had a feeling that they were going somewhere else with this.

He was half on top of her and began to undo her buttons, still kissing her, and so uncertain that when he _had _unbuttoned them all – still leaving her shirt to cover her – he raised himself up to look her in the eye. He wanted to ask if it was OK, but had lost the power of speech. 

She couldn't reply herself, and just nodded once. 

He took a deep breath and pulled her shirt away, and was struck with vivid memories of standing with her like this at Christmas. He couldn't even touch her. He just stared as she wriggled all the way out of her top, and tossed it onto the floor. 

"Wow," he said faintly. She flushed red. 

"OK," she said, and reached around him to pull off _his_ shirt. He helped her get it over his head, and then stayed leaning over her. Very lightly, she ran her hands across the scars on his arms, from the brain-thing in fifth year. She'd seen them before, but never drawn attention to them, and they tingled when her fingers brushed against them. 

Then suddenly everything was speeding up. His hands were at her breasts and he was throbbing all over. She was sighing again again and unzipping his trousers, and he was kicking them off and tugging at her pyjama bottoms, hands sliding down to her pale belly and thighs. He felt frantic and ready to burst, and she wasn't helping him, with her sounds and her movements and her hands everywhere. 

By the time both of them were naked, Ron realised that he hadn't made absolutely, positively sure that this was OK. He was pretty sure it was. He was pretty certain she was doing this too, but if he was wrong, and she was going to regret it, then he'd regret it too. Merlin, he'd left it late, but better now than never. 

"Hermione," he said gratingly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she murmured, and pulled him down so that his chest was against hers. He frowned furiously, trying to control himself, and managed to speak again.

"Sure?"

"I'm sure, I'm sure. I want to. Please."

That would have to do, because he couldn't hold on much longer. He kissed her mouth, and then her cheek and around her ear, when he remembered something else. 

"What about – contraceptive charm?"

He saw her blush again. "I did it already," she mumbled, "when you went into the bathroom."

He didn't allow himself to think about this.

"God," he muttered. His hand swept across her stomach and downward and downward, and she gripped his shoulder tighter. He didn't really know what he was doing to her – in fact, he was working on hazy knowledge and improvisation – but soon she was gripping tighter still and sort of moaning, and he was so close to the edge himself that he was barely coherent.

"Can I …" he began, and she nodded immediately, and pulled him closer again. 

He shifted slightly.

"Are you ready?" he asked. He felt the strangest urgency, beyond his own need, to make sure she was alright. 

She nodded again. He took a breath, positioned himself, and then very carefully entered her. She gasped once and pressed her lips together, holding him. 

"Are you OK?"

"It's alright," she breathed. "I'm alright."

He put a hand on the side of her face and moved inside her once, slowly. She closed her eyes. 

"'Mione?"

"It's alright."  
He moved again, and then twice more – and then he was gone, hopelessly and completely. 

~ 

Afterwards, they lay back catching their respective breaths and Ron, feeling a bit awkward, touched her arm.

"Hey."

"Hey," she said, and turned her head to look at him.

"You're OK?"

"I'm fine. I'm OK. What about you?"

He hardly believed this still. "I'm – really, really OK," he said, and she smiled a bit.

"Me too," she said. "I'm actually really OK too."

There was a brief pause. 

"Did it hurt?" he asked then, and she half-shrugged.

"A little."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't," she said, and brushed his hair out of his face. "Don't be sorry. It was good things at the same time."

"Right," he said, even though he didn't quite get it. Her face was flushed, and her hair was a crazy mess, and she was beautiful. "I love you," he said, and meant it, as hard as he could. 

"I love you too," she replied. 

It was one of the most serious and honest moments of his life, lying there with her. It was almost surreal. 

And it was a thousand million times better than worrying about whatever bloody Voldemort was up to, out there in the world.

~

They did it again, a little later, and afterwards he fell asleep with his arm around her. He woke once more, in the early morning, and she was asleep then too. Her eyelids fluttered slightly – she was dreaming. It was strange to see somebody sleep from so close, and kind of amazing. 

He had a feeling, too, that he'd only heard about before. That feeling where you wish every morning could be like this, watching her with her eyes closed, her foot tucked up and touching your kneecap.

He drifted off, and then woke again at seven, with a sharp rapping on the door. 

"Hey," he murmured, nudging Hermione. She was a sudden waker, opening her eyes right away and half-sitting, before falling back against the pillow. 

"Hello," she said, and smiled.

"Hello. There's someone at the door."

"Now?"

"Mm."

"Who is it?" she called hoarsely, and it was Ginny who replied. 

"It's me. Are you awake?"

"Now I am. Why?"

She paused. "Is Ron there?" she asked, reluctantly. 

Hermione and Ron met eyes, and then he sat up and pulled his boxers on before padding over to the door. He opened it slightly, and Ginny was standing there, dressed and ready for the day. He felt tired just looking at her. 

"What is it?" he asked lowly.

"I'm really sorry," she said. "Really sorry. I spoke to Dumbledore at the DA meeting last night – he came, he wanted to see what we were doing – and he said he'd need to see you in his office in the morning. You didn't come to the meeting, and you weren't in your dormitory, and – well, I sort of surmised the rest."

"He wants to speak to me this morning?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"When exactly?"

"Now, pretty much. Before breakfast."

Ron sighed impatiently. "It's kind of a bad time," he protested, but Ginny just shrugged. 

"I'm really sorry," she said again. 

"OK, OK. I'll go get changed."

"I'll see you at breakfast."

"Thanks for telling me."

"That's alright." Now she allowed herself a near-cheeky smile, as she called out to Hermione. "Bye, 'Mione. I'll see you down there."

Ron made a face at her and shut the door, turning to look at his girlfriend. She was curled up under the sheets.

"Well, Ginny knows we – you know," Ron said, throwing himself down on the bed beside her. 

"Mm. Which means Harry knows."

They looked at each other, and then Hermione kissed him. 

"It was a good night," she said softly. 

"I like falling asleep with you," he replied.

"Oh, that's all?" she said, feigning great surprise.

"The shagging wasn't bad either," he admitted, and then kissed her back. "It wasn't bad at all."

"Right," she said, breaking into a slow grin. "I thought so."

There was a brief pause, and then she touched his chin. "Better go see the Headmaster."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to get changed too."

He watched her hop out of bed, and then had to drag his eyes away. He didn't want to get started up again too early. He went searching for his various articles of clothing instead, in the best mood he'd been in all year. 

-- 

A/N: There you are, then. :) Now I'm off to watch the return of my favourite TV show, and then bed. Stay tuned. ~I'll be around~ Shez.


	27. Words

A/N: Glad you approved. I promise this won't be a smut-fest, or anywhere close to (sorry about the porn Meegs!!!). I feel much better, thank you for all your well-wishing (stupid colds are getting everybody). Let's continue. ~could have met you in a sandbox~ Shez  PS – Fav show is _The Guardian_. Simon Baker gives Australians a good name. 

~

Ron came out of Hermione's room still tugging one shoe on, and was so distracted that he almost didn't see Malfoy. The Slytherin was leaving his own room, his uniform immaculate, and his hair swept sleekly back. He didn't stop when he saw Ron, although he could have sworn there was a sort of flicker in the Head Boy's eye. 

When he passed, Ron thought he'd be gracious, and gave him a nod. Malfoy returned it, and soon disappeared down the stairs. 

He couldn't help feeling just the tiniest bit smug. 

"Hey," said Hermione, coming out behind him. 

"Hey."

"Was that Malfoy?"

"Ah – yeah."

"He didn't come to get me for patrols last night," Hermione mused. "Maybe he didn't do them."

_Maybe he heard us_, Ron thought, and was immediately horrified. He hoped Hermione had some kind of noise-containing charm on the walls. Why she would have this, he had no idea, but he still hoped it. She was a pretty organised girl. He briefly remembered her contraceptive charm forethought, and grinned. 

"What?" she asked, a bit warily, and Ron shook his head. He didn't want to embarrass her. 

"Nothing." 

She flattened a piece of hair that was sticking up around his ear. "Well," she said, "you don't want to be late for Dumbledore."

"OK. I'll go."

"OK."

He didn't move. His feet were fastened to the ground. Hermione raised her eyebrows expectantly at him, and then laughed a little. 

"What's the matter?"

"I don't know," he said. "I don't want to go out to the day."

"We have to. Lots of things to do."

"I know. I'm just – thank you."

He kissed her cheek, then kissed her properly, and then left before he could say something more inadequate. He was jogging down the stairs when he heard her call out from the top.

"Ron?"

He stopped and turned to look at her.

"Yes?"

She smiled and sort of shrugged. "Thank you."

There was a short silence, and then he smiled back. "OK."  
~  
Ron knocked uncertainly on Dumbledore's door. It was very quiet in the Headmaster's room, and he wasn't sure that anyone was in there until the old man's voice echoed out into the hall. 

"It's open, Mr Weasley."

Sure enough, when Ron pushed on the door, it creaked inward and he was able to step inside. He'd been in Dumbledore's office before, but almost always with Harry or Hermione, and he felt rather out of place among the tall bookshelves and fancy equipment. Dumbledore was standing by Fawkes' perch, watching the bird plume its feathers. Ron stood at about a metre's distance from him. 

A full minute later, the Headmaster still hadn't said anything, and Ron was beginning to wonder about him. 

"Er – Professor?" he said, and Dumbledore looked up. 

"My apologies," he said. "Lost in thought. Thank you for coming. I hope you weren't – otherwise engaged?"

Ron blinked at him, and then shook his head wordlessly. Sometimes he had a feeling that Dumbledore knew everything that went on in his school, and that worried him more than a little. 

"Good," Dumbledore continued briskly, turning away from Fawkes to face him. "Now, Ronald, there was a particular matter I wished to discuss with you."

"Yes, Professor?"

"I am concerned for Harry."

Ron nodded, and then had to ask. "What exactly are you concerned about, sir?"

"Several things. Largely the way in which he has taken news of Voldemort's activities, and Hagrid's return."

"Ah."

Dumbledore removed his glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Yes. His foremost reaction was to ignore the issue. His next was to defy it. Professor Lupin and I have asked him repeatedly to attend further Defence classes, in preparation for –" Here he paused, very briefly, and then went on: "In preparation for whatever may lie before him."

"I see," Ron said, even though he didn't really. 

"I understand," Dumbledore said, "that your sister has been very supportive and patient, and that yourself and Miss Granger are doing your best, particularly with all the pressure of N.E.W.T.s and quidditch and so forth."

Ron hadn't given a thought to N.E.W.T.s for days, and then it was fairly fleeting (along the lines of: 'Those tests are coming up soon, aren't they? Oh look, lunch'). He forced himself to concentrate. 

"I'm sorry, Professor," he said. "I'm a little confused. What exactly – er –"

"Does this have to do with you?" Dumbledore finished for him. "I suppose I'm asking, Mr Weasley, if you would be able to have a word with him."

"A word?"

"He doesn't want to hear from his teachers at the moment, Ron," Dumbledore said, and he sounded rather sad. "And we thought, perhaps –"

"He won't listen to us," Ron interrupted, alarmed. He didn't realise he'd cut off the Headmaster until he was halfway through his explanation and then he couldn't stop. "You don't know what he's like, Professor. He's impossible to talk to when it comes to all of that. Voldemort, I mean. He's impossible at the moment. Won't have a bar of it."

"I understand," said Dumbledore. "I don't suggest that you sit him down and discuss it. He's like his father in that way – restless. Perhaps 'a word' was the wrong term to use. Something simpler would be best."

"Simpler," Ron repeated. He had no idea how he would manage this, and Dumbledore must have seen it in his face, because he waved a hand at him. 

"It's alright, Mr Weasley," he said, a bit wearily. "As it is, you are doing very well. Continue to support him and be an honest friend, as you have been. He needs friends around him at this time."

There was a long silence, and then Dumbledore turned back to Fawkwes, as though he was dismissed. Ron began to move away, but hesitated in the doorway. 

"Professor … is there something going on with Harry that we don't know about?"

Dumbledore met his eye and nodded. "Yes," he said frankly. "There is. It's very important, and it involves Voldemort. I do ask, on his behalf, that you be patient with Harry. It – it is rather a lot to deal with, for a seventeen year old."

The Headmaster looked away again, and Ron still didn't understand, and didn't want to be there anymore. He had the feeling that Dumbledore didn't want him there anymore either. As he left, he heard Dumbledore speak.

"Thank you for coming."

"That's alright," he said over his shoulder, and hurried away. 

~

At breakfast, Hermione was nearly finished, but Harry and Ginny were just starting. 

"Hey," she said when she saw him, and patted the place beside her. He slid into the spot.

"Hi."

"What did Dumbledore want?"

"Oh – nothing important." Ron looked pointedly at Harry, and Hermione changed the subject. 

"I saved bacon for you," she said, moving the pieces from her plate to his. "I had to risk life and limb for them, but they're saved."

"Thank you," he said appreciatively, and immediately ate a bit, before speaking to her with his mouth full. "You do realise that the platters refill every quarter hour or so."

"They do?"

"Yeah. You're just never around long enough at breakfast to notice."

"Oh." She flushed. "Oh well, never mind."

He swallowed and leant over to kiss her temple, leaving a bacon-y mark on her skin. She rubbed it off immediately, and he grinned at her.

"I'd much rather eat the bacon you saved," he said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said, her own smile returning. "But I think you can get your own from now on."

She turned to speak to Ginny on her left, and Ron, still looking in her direction, saw Harry over the two girls' heads. He was staring into the distance with a fierce sort of concentration – like at the Ravenclaw quidditch match – and wasn't moving. His hands clutched his knife and fork too tightly. He looked very odd.

Ron whistled, and Harry snapped back into life. 

"What?" he said, and Ginny glanced at him.

"What?"

"Oh – I don't know," Harry replied, shaking his head as though to clear it. 

Ginny and Hermione began to talk once more, and Harry went on with his breakfast. 

Ron frowned to himself, thinking about this lapse, and the previous, when he felt Hermione's hand on his knee.

It wasn't doing anything. It was just resting there, in a gesture that was part comfort, part possession, part reassurance. 

He put his over hers, and then she turned her hand palm up and linked her fingers through his. 

He ate the rest of his breakfast with just a fork that morning. His left hand was busy holding hers.

~

After quidditch practice that afternoon, Harry and Ron were walking back to the castle when Harry brought up nocturnal activities. 

"So. You and Hermione," he said. 

"Yeah. That's about four months now," Ron commented innocently. He knew exactly what 'You and Hermione' meant, but if Harry wanted to talk about it, he was going to make it trickier for him. 

"Right." He paused. "Ginny told me."

"Told you?"

"_You _know," Harry said impatiently.

"Yeah," Ron conceded. "I know."

There was a momentary silence and then Harry looked sideways at him. "So," he said, "how was it?"

"How was it?"

"Yeah."

"It was – good. Excellent. Really good."

"Well, good."

"Mm."  
Another silence.

"Ron," he said suddenly, "can I come home with you for the summer?"

This took him by surprise.

"Of course you can," he said. "Where did you think you were going?"

"Not back to the Dursleys, that's for sure," Harry muttered darkly. Ron was inclined to agree. 

"You don't have to go back there again," he said firmly. "Who'd want to?"

"Not me. I just – I want to make plans. For afterwards," Harry went on, quite enigmatically. "I want to make plans – so that – my life isn't on hold, you know. Waiting."

"On hold?"

"I – doesn't matter. I just want to make plans – as if I know I'm going to be around this summer."

He said this last in such a rush that Ron almost didn't hear him, but when he had absorbed the words, he physically stopped. Harry stopped with him and kept his gaze on the ground. 

"You _are_ going to be around this summer," Ron said indignantly. "What are you talking about?"

"I know," Harry said. "Yeah, I know that."

"Well, what did you mean then?"

"Nothing. I didn't mean anything."

"Harry! Jeez – for fuck's sake, that's a bit grim, isn't it?"

Harry said nothing, and Ron resisted the urge to slap him into optimism. "Voldemort's not your job, OK?" he said eventually. "Other people are going to handle the war, and you don't have to assume that it all depends on you. Alright?"

At this point, Harry looked up, and to Ron's shock there were tears in his eyes. He opened his mouth as though he was going to say something, but then shut it again, clearly thinking better of it. Very abruptly, he swung onto his broom and flew all the way back to the castle, leaving Ron to stare after his disappearing back.

What on earth was all this about?  

~

Ron found Hermione in the library. She was at a table, almost entirely surrounded by books, and he had to move some out of the way before she even noticed he was there. 

"Oh, hello," she said absently. 

"Hi."

"I just realised that N.E.W.T.s are on in a month," she explained, sounding a bit feverish. "I mean, I knew they were, but I haven't been thinking about it. And I don't know anything. So I thought I should get some study in when I can. Extra information can be extremely important, I've heard. I have to learn about –"

"'Mione," he interrupted, and she focussed properly on him. 

"What?"

"You're a genius. Don't work yourself up. Didn't you feel better not stressing about it?"

"Feeling better isn't the point. Passing seventh year is the point."

"You'll pass like nobody's business," he said, and closed up the book she was reading. "Me, maybe I should worry. But you do all your homework and all your study and you're going to be fine."

She breathed a long, heavy sigh and brushed hair out of her face. Her inky fingers left a blue smudge on her cheek, and it was so cute that he didn't want to tell her. 

"Alright," she said. "I'll stop for a while."

"Good. Now help me with Harry."

"What about him?"

"He's being really weird. He said he wasn't sure he was going to be around next summer. I'm just – you don't think he'd –"

"Commit suicide?" Hermione murmured, and Ron winced. 

"Could you not say that please?"

Hermione was shaking her head. "No," she said, "I don't think it's that. I'm sure. It's something else bothering him. Ginny was telling me how odd he's been. He told her that she should dump him and find somebody else one night."

"What? Why?" Ron asked wildly, and Hermione shrugged. 

"Something about it being better for her. She dismissed the idea as soon as it was out of his mouth of course, but you should have heard her talking about it. She's crazy with worrying about him. And have you noticed his little black-outs?"

"Yeah, I have!" Ron said urgently, relieved that she'd seen them too. "That's what happened in the quidditch game. And at breakfast this morning."

"It's odd, like he's totally – not there. Oblivious. And Ginny was telling me – ah –" She flushed and motioned for him to lean closer. "Ginny told me that it happened before, when they were in the middle of – you know."

"You're kidding."

"It was like his mind was gone, she said. She had to pinch him to bring him back, but she doesn't want to tell anyone in case Harry finds out. He'd hate it if he thought everyone was fussing."

Ron bit his lip. "Maybe we should tell Dumbledore."

"I was thinking Professor Lupin," Hermione suggested.

"Oh, good idea. Good. Let's do that."

"What was Dumbledore saying this morning?"

"To do this," Ron said, standing up. "Watch out for Harry. Come on, let's find Lupin now. I want to figure this out before he ends up barmy." 

They left the library purposefully, Ron slowing his steps a little so that she could keep up.


	28. Fear and Pretence

A/N: Look who's back in town :) … Again, sorry for the delay on this chap, just life taking over. I'm actually going to England for a year, and I leave in less than four weeks time, and everything's a big fat ugly mess (not a mess – just a lot of work that I can't be bothered to do), and I hate lists, and there are no winter clothes in the shops, and I shouldn't keep harassing you with my little problems. So, forgive me, and here's some stuff. ~this will all make perfect sense someday~ Shez

~

Lupin wasn't in the staff room, but Flitwick gave directions to his office, and they found it without much trouble. On the way, Hermione remembered that she'd been there once before, and then proceeded to lead him down various corridors with that fierce determination she had sometimes.

She could really move fast when she wanted to, and Ron was trying to conceal his puffing as they reached Lupin's door. She stopped abruptly and looked at him.

"What?" he said, and she made a face. 

"You do it."

"Do what?"

"Knock."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake."

He rapped on the door several times, and they waited. It wasn't long before they heard the professor's footsteps approach, and then he was opening the door. He was looking a little worse-for-wear (the full moon was upcoming), but not unhappy to see them. Maybe a little surprised, if anything.

"Hello Ron, Hermione."

"Hello Professor Lupin," Hermione said. 

He looked from one to the other for a moment, and then opened his door more widely. "Well, come in."

"Thanks."

He held the door as they entered, and Ron took a surreptitious, sweeping view of the place. It matched Lupin all the way from the shelves of neatly stacked, frequently title-less volumes, down to the faded antique rug under his desk, and the toast that was browning slowly by the fireplace. 

"I was just about to have some supper," Lupin commented, seeing Ron's eye fall on the food. "Would you like some?"

"No thanks," said Ron, albeit rather reluctantly. "We've got dinner soon."

"Aren't you coming down to dinner, Professor?" Hermione asked, and Lupin shook his head.

"No," he said. "I don't really feel up to it tonight."

"Oh."  
There was a brief, awkward pause, and then Lupin gestured at a tattered green couch and the two of the sat. He took the armchair opposite. 

"What can I do for you?" he said. 

Ron and Hermione glanced at each other. They'd come down here with simple intentions, but it didn't seem so simple now. How could they put the situation without worrying Lupin? Ron hadn't considered it very carefully, and clearly Hermione hadn't either. Lupin, in many ways, was the closest thing Harry had to a dad without Sirius or James. But besides that, he was also Harry's instructor – and Ron knew that if they didn't say something now, they might not get around to it. 

"It's like this," he began, and then Hermione cut in. 

"We're worried about Harry. He's not himself."

"Yeah, he's freaking out," Ron said, taking up on her general thread. 

"Freaking out?" Lupin repeated, and they both nodded. 

"He's in a bit of a daze," said Hermione.

"And cranky," added Ron.

"He's morbid."

"Talking about death and things."

"Half the time it's like he's not even there."   

"Yeah, even in the middle of –" Hermione dug her elbow hard into his ribs, and he remembered who he was talking to. "Er – class," he finished lamely. 

"Wait, wait, wait," said Lupin, quite loudly, and they both shut their mouths and sat back. He eyed them for some time and then absentmindedly rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I know Harry's – a bit odd at the moment. But it's to be expected in these times."

"That's a cop-out, Professor, if you don't mind me saying so," Hermione said frankly. Ron was impressed and nudged her, but she ignored him.

Lupin paused and then nodded, speaking almost to himself. "I know. I know it is."

"We just want to know what's wrong with him," Ron said. "That's all."

"Of course you do."

"Will you tell us?" asked Hermione quietly, and Lupin finally met her eye. 

"I shouldn't," he said, "but I will."

A long silence followed this, and then Lupin realised that his toast was burning and had to fish it out of the fire. Once he'd done that, he seemed more composed. Ron found himself taking Hermione's hand, his heart throbbing in a strange anticipation. He didn't know why he was excited – or was it nervous? – about this. Just hearing what was happening would be a relief. 

"I don't know all the details myself," Lupin said, "but I don't think many people do. Maybe Dumbledore and Harry, and the people at the Department of Mysteries. I only know the general gist." He hesitated. Inwardly, Ron was begging him to continue, and when he caught a glimpse of Hermione's face, he was sure she was doing the same. "Basically," Lupin went on, "Harry and Voldemort are involved in a prophecy. This prophecy states that one or the other of them will have to die."

Another long silence, more tense this time. Ron attempted to understand this. Lupin looked grave. 

"What do you mean, 'one or the other of them'?" Hermione said, rather shrilly. 

"The theory is, they will fight, and then either Voldemort will kill Harry, or Harry will kill Voldemort."

"Wait, Harry has to fight Voldemort?" Ron asked incredulously. "Again?"

"Yes."

"And kill him?"

"If Harry is to live, yes."

"Are you sure you have this right?" Hermione said. "I mean, couldn't they have mixed it up? Maybe it was talking about a previous fight between Harry and Voldemort. Like fifth year, or second year, or even – oh I don't know, even first year. It could have been that, couldn't it?"

"Hermione …" Lupin began, but she spoke over him.

"It's just like the Ministry to put this on Harry's shoulders! He has more than enough to deal with."

"It wasn't the Ministry," Lupin tried to explain, but now she was standing up. 

"Well, fuck the Ministry's silly prophecy!" she shouted. "Harry's not going to fight Voldemort again!"

And with that, she ran out. 

Ron stared at Lupin for a few seconds as the full impact of what the teacher had been saying finally hit him. Harry and Voldemort, in a fight to the death. It was nearly the most awful thing he could think of. Lupin looked so tired and sad, and his worry-lines were so clear, that Ron simply couldn't sit there anymore. He left too – and found Hermione sitting on the floor in the corridor, her back against the wall. 

He sat beside her. She was staring into the distance with a horrified expression on her face. 

"I said the f-word," she managed finally, "to a teacher."

Then her face crumpled and she put her head on her upright knees. 

Ron, who was still in a kind of shock himself, once again felt useless in the face of her crying. He touched her leg, and then the back of her neck, and eventually found himself stroking her hair, muttering words that didn't mean anything. 

"Harry's going to die," Hermione sobbed.

"No he's not," Ron said immediately. "Don't say that again."

"He is."

"Stop it."

"Ron …"

"Right here."

She went on crying, and he went on stroking her hair. 

Eventually, she calmed down and lifted her face from her knees. She was blotchy and tear-streaked and red-nosed and he wanted to kiss her so she'd feel better, but didn't want to seem insensitive. She looked him right in the eye, and he knew had to say something – he just didn't know what. 

"Harry's not going to die," he told her, in the end. "We won't let him. Alright? Harry's going to kill Voldemort, and that's all there is to it. He shouldn't even have to fight him, but – but he's trained, right? And we'll help him. And he's not going to die."

Hermione nodded, and wiped her face with both hands. "OK," she said. "I believe you."

Ron felt like he'd made a promise when she said that. It was one he might not be able to keep – but he'd say whatever he could to make her happy again. 

"Let's go to dinner," she said, and stood up. He did the same, and they were about to go when Ron heard Lupin's voice. They turned – the Professor was standing in his doorway. 

"I'm sorry," he said wearily. "And please don't tell anybody. Voldemort doesn't know, you see."

Ron and Hermione nodded simultaneously, and so did he, and then the Professor went back into his room, and Hermione and Ron went down to the Great Hall.

~

At dinner, Ginny sat through almost the entire, near-silent meal before she cracked. 

"Right," she said. "What's up with you lot?"

"Me?" said Harry, Ron and Hermione, glancing up from their plates. 

"Yes, _you_," she retorted. "All of you. What on earth's the matter?"

"Nothing," Harry said, and Ron and Hermione mumbled agreements. 

Ginny frowned furiously at each of them, and then looked as though she was trying not to cry. 

"Fine," she snapped. "Have your little secrets. Leave me out, like you always have done. I don't care."

"Ginny …" Hermione said pleadingly, but the redhead was already standing. Harry half-stood with her, but she waved an irritable hand at him and stormed away. Harry sat back down and then narrowed his eyes at Ron. 

"What _is _wrong with you two?"

"We could ask the same thing of you," Ron said.

"Me? I'm fine."

"Yeah?" Ron said disbelievingly, and Hermione poked him. They'd agreed not to tell Harry that they'd heard about the prophecy yet. If they just let loose with their newfound information, who knew what he'd do?

Harry wasn't paying attention, anyway. He was watching after Ginny. There was a silence, and then he sighed heavily. 

"I should go talk to her."

"Probably," Hermione agreed. 

He left without another word. 

"I hate it when he does that," said Ron. 

"I'd rather have him here and rude to us, than –" 

He silenced her with a hard look. He didn't want to hear her say that – couldn't hear it. He couldn't even think it. Harry, his best friend, his sixth brother, who he'd grown up with, who always passed him the ball when they played backyard quidditch, who made his sister happy and didn't laugh at him when he screwed up – that Harry, dead? 

Ron couldn't even conceive of his life without Harry in it; he couldn't remember not knowing him.

"Sorry," she murmured, and Ron shrugged. "Do you want your custard?" she went on, and he shook his head. 

"No," he said. 

"Do you want to play chess or something?"

"No."

"We could just go to my room," she suggested, and flushed. He looked at her sidelong and raised his eyebrows. 

"You want to …"

"Do you?"

"I don't know."

He hadn't really thought about _that_ either – the first time was all very well, but what about the second, and the third? How exactly did those come around?

"I just want to be with you," Hermione said softly, fiddling with her fork. Bits of her hair were coming untucked from her band and kept falling across her face. She flicked them away with her free hand, and his throat sort of closed over. He didn't know what to say when she was like this. She could still turn him about and make his heart beat crazy-fast, and he didn't know how.

"OK," he said, summoning his voice. "Alright."

~

Lying with her afterwards, Ron wasn't sure how he felt exactly. Well, he felt good of course, but that was shag-related good – Hermione-related good. It was more that he didn't know how he felt about feeling good. 

"Do you think we should have done that?" Hermione asked suddenly, and he looked at her in surprise. 

"I was just thinking the same thing."

"Really?"

"Yeah." He shook his head. "I don't know. I feel – like I shouldn't – be happy."

"Because of Harry?"

"I mean, shi– Merlin, Hermione. It's horrible."

"I know."

"And I don't want to think about it. But I can't stop. And I hate that. And I hate that I'm thinking about it now, when I all I want to think about is how much I really, really like all this."

"All this?" she said dryly, and in response he rolled onto his side and touched her bare stomach. 

"Like how I can do that, and not be arrested," he said wonderingly, and she grinned. "No, I mean it." He hesitated and then shook his head. "I don't know why you picked me, but I'm glad."

"I don't know why you picked me," she returned, "but I'mglad."

They smiled at each other, and then Ron exhaled and dropped his head. "I don't know," he said. 

"I think it's like what you told me before. We can't let Voldemort ruin everything. We can't let him ruin, you know, having sex, and we can't let him ruin how we see Harry, and we just – can't let him do all the things he wants." Hermione said all this in something of a rush, and when she was done, Ron stared at her. 

"What?" she asked, a bit shyly, and his grin came back. 

"You said sex."

She laughed and hit him on the head. 

"No, no," he protested. "It's great. The f-word and sex, all in one day."

"I've said sex before."

"Not to me, you haven't. Wasn't it you who told me once 'if you're not mature enough to say it, you shouldn't be doing it'?"

"Stop it."

He kissed her, and then leant back against her pillow, trying to sort himself out. 

"You're right," he said eventually, seriously. "You're completely right. I was completely right. We can't let him. And anyway, Harry's not going to – nothing's going to happen to him."

"Of course not," Hermione said stoutly. "Not if I can help it."

"And me, and Lupin, and Dumbledore and everybody." He paused, and remembered something. "Hey, we didn't really ask about those blackout things."

Hermione half-shrugged. "We could go back?"

That thought was far too depressing. "No," Ron said firmly. "Not tonight. We'll talk to him later."

"OK. We should talk to Ginny too."

"Yeah. Poor girl."

"Angry girl."

He nodded to himself a bit and then edged closer. 

"You know, you can say it again if you want."

"Sex, sex, sex," she said, rolling her eyes. "There. Happy?"

"Very."

She frowned at him. "I don't recall you using that precise word either, Ron Weasley, come to think of it."

He kissed her again, and when he eventually broke away, was rather breathless.

"I don't need to," he said hoarsely. "You know what I mean."

So they pretended, for a while, that nothing was wrong with Harry or the world, and he was happy to be happy. It was almost defiant, in a way. But no matter what they told each other, Voldemort and Harry and Lupin's words still hung like a dark curtain across the back of his mind – and later that night, when her eyes were closed, he was still wide awake, unable to suppress the images of his friend pale and lifeless like Cedric Diggory had been, and Voldemort standing over him, laughing.    


	29. News From The Outside

A/N: Don't worry, the fic will be finished before I leave. Deactivate panic buttons! And, ah, cheers Locke21… glad I've stopped 'being kinda annoying' *grin* … hey, you're the one who reads it. Anyhoo, it's all happening now, and thank you for reviews, they're the Sting in my _Police_. Read on. ~Look at David~ Shez 

~

Three weeks went by – not fast, not slow, they just went by. Hermione studied like a crazy woman, and acted like she wasn't scared when Ron was watching. She wasn't sleeping well, and he knew nothing he said was going to fix that, so he just let her do her thing (throwing in a few frustrated comments now and then). 

Ron could barely think about N.E.W.T.s. He liked to tell himself that he wasn't doing them, and sit back while everybody else worried. He knew it was idiotic, and every few days or so he'd have a burst of panic, and settle down for an hour with his books … but pretty soon his mind would drift, and latch onto other things – how ludicrous it all seemed, in the face of the Dark Lord's return. How many people he could lose. How hopeless it was to pit a 17-year-old kid against Voldemort. 

Then he'd do his best not to think about _that_, and he'd have to go and play some quidditch or chess or something. 

He felt very unlike his usual self. He hated fretting. 

On the other hand, the sex was good. It wasn't like it was every night or anything, but that almost made it better, the anticipation of it. However, it was getting a bit tricky to avoid being seen. Thank Merlin she was Head Girl and had her own rooms, or he didn't know what they would have done. How Harry and Ginny managed it, he had no idea. Most nights, he didn't stay with her. He left early in the morning instead, to get back to his dorm, so that she wouldn't be in trouble if anyone came in. 

Every time, he attempted not to wake her, and every time he failed and had to say goodnight. It made him feel like scum, slipping away after they slept together, but he didn't want to risk their being caught, especially so close to graduation. 

So the three weeks passed, as weeks are wont to do, and it wasn't until their end that Ron was spotted out of bed for the first time – by McGonagall. 

He'd just come down the Head Boy/Girl stairway, a bit jumpy because he'd heard noises from Malfoy's room. He hated knowing that Malfoy was in there when he and Hermione were together, and was dwelling vaguely on this when he stepped out into the corridor. He was so distracted, in fact, that he didn't notice McGonagall coming around the corner. 

She marched directly up to him, and it was the click-clack of her shoes on the stone that got his attention. He looked up – and nearly wet himself when he saw her, with that frightening expression on her face. 

Ron didn't move, and she quickly reached him.

"What are you doing out of bed, Mr Weasley?" she said sharply. 

He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. "Er," he managed. That was all. 

"I asked, what were you doing out of bed?" she repeated, and now he found voice. 

"I was … going to the loo," he said. 

_Oh God, _he thought despairingly, _that's the stupidest thing I've said to date. _

She cocked an eyebrow at him and crossed her arms over her chest. 

"You wanted to go to the bathroom?"

"Yes. I – yes."

"What's wrong with the facilities in your dorm?"

"I – don't like those ones," he said faintly, amazed that he could meet her eye. It was probably because he was half-hypnotised with guilt. "They're – er, not as nice – as –"

"As which?" she said suspiciously, and he sighed and gave up. 

"Sorry," he said simply. "I won't do it again."

Her gaze travelled from him to the staircase he'd just descended, and she clicked. There was an agonisingly long silence, and then he risked a glance at her face. Now _she _wasn't meeting _his _eye. She was staring at a point somewhere beyond his shoulder. 

"Ronald Weasley," she said eventually, very stiffly. "I want to know nothing further about this, and am going to continue on to bed. Do not let me see you walking the school halls again." 

"Er – of course not, Professor. I mean – thank you."

"_Don't _thank me," she said. "You will serve detention with me tomorrow afternoon."

"Alright. Oh, I have quidditch practice."

She paused, and then nodded once. "The next afternoon, then. Now, off to bed, please."

"Yes, Professor. Thank– ah, sorry."

He scuttled off in the direction of the Gryffindor rooms, but had to stop when she called out to him.

"Ronald?"

"Yes?"

She spoke as she walked away . "Next time, use your own bathroom, and leave Ms Granger to hers."

This shocked him so much that he had to take a few deep breaths before continuing on.

~

In the common room, he had another shock. Lying on the couch with a hat pulled over his eyes was his brother Fred. 

"Oh, fuck," Ron said wildly, and Fred sat up. 

"Where?" He saw Ron. "Oh, it's you."

"It's me? _It's me? _That's all you can say? What the hell are you doing here?"

"Settle petal," said another voice. George was sitting in one of the armchairs, facing away from the doorway, and he popped his head up to speak to Ron. "What's got you so cranky?"

"Nothing. Nothing. I – do you want something?"

"What a sweet reception," Fred remarked. "I do love visiting family."

"Fred, seriously," Ron said. 

Neither of the twins replied. They were both frowning at him in an eerily identical fashion. Ron shifted uncomfortably, and felt his ears burning. Then Fred's eyes widened, and he laughed. 

"You've been _shagging_!" he said delightedly. 

"No I haven't," Ron said, too quickly, and George grinned.

"Methinks the little man doth protest too much. You've been dipping your nib in the Gryffindor ink, have you?"

"Does wonders for your complexion," added Fred. 

Ron threw himself down into the armchair opposite George. "Shut up," he muttered and closed his eyes. "I want to go to bed."

"We know," George said. "We just pointed that out."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," he snapped. "Yes, OK?"

"With Hermione?" asked Fred, and Ron nodded. 

"Yes, Hermione. And that's all I'm saying. Will you leave it?"

"Certainly not," Fred said indignantly. "What do you take us for, rank amateurs? Expect daily ribbings just as soon as you get home, of an irritating and innovative fashion."

"We'll leave it for now, though," George said. "We've bigger fish to fry."

"Like what?"

"We thought we'd bring you the general news," he continued. "You and Harry and the others, that is. We know what it's like to be left out of the loop."

"Horrible," Fred interjected. "You have to create, oh I don't know, million-Galleon-making inventions like Extendable Ears to combat the frustration."

Ron rolled his eyes. "What on earth are you two on about?"

"The Order," Fred said impatiently. "Aren't you listening?"

"You two are with the Order?"

"Yes. Well, kind of. We supply them with – various things." He looked distinctly shifty, and George pointedly swung them back onto topic. 

"We know a bit, both officially and unofficially, and we're just passing it on. As long as you solemnly swear not to spread it about –"

"Which we know you won't."

"But swear anyway."

Ron sighed and put his hand on his heart, but George cut him off before he spoke. 

"That'll do. Now we've heard all about Hagrid coming back, and the stuff with the giants, and it got us thinking. So we contacted a couple of people, and they came back to us with all kinds of weird stories. Death Eaters have been showing up here and there, and aren't afraid to flash their marks."

"He means _show _their marks," Fred whispered. "Not, you know, _flash_."

"Thank you, twin," George said dryly. "Anyway, they've been flitting about the place, quite openly. A few even came into Knockturn Alley. There are weapons missing from the Ministry. Dad's hardly ever home. There've been odd riots in some spots – in a little town in Surrey, two wizards were killed by unidentified assailants."

"The dark mark was burnt into the town hall's front door," Fred added, and George looked briefly at him, before turning back to Ron. 

"In other words, things are a bit unsettled. Something's on its way – the war, I guess."

"The end of the war," Fred suggested. "The members of the Order are having regular meetings, but they can't form any plan of attack, because there isn't a specific target to direct an attack _at_. They can only react to whatever's thrown at them."

"It's a mess," George concluded frankly. "But we thought you should know. Harry too."  
Ron nodded, and realised he'd been nodding for some time. Well, they'd guessed as much (and assumed that the little information reaching them at school, mostly via the _Daily Prophet_, was watered down), but it still wasn't pleasant to hear their suspicions confirmed. Especially now, with what they knew of the Harry-Voldemort Prophecy, Ron had really been hoping that everyone was wrong somehow, and Voldemort wasn't ever coming back. 

"Well – OK," Ron said heavily. "Thanks."

"No problem," said Fred. "Always like to be the bearers of bad news."

"Jeez, Fred," Ron returned, feeling his anger rise. "Do you have to turn everything into a bloody joke?"

Fred looked at him for a moment, and then shrugged. "It all comes back to that old saying, doesn't it? If you didn't laugh, you'd cry. And I don't like crying."

"Makes his eyes all puffy," George added, in an undertone. 

Ron glanced from one to the other. Their faces were bland, and he felt a bit silly. He knew there was no way to change them – and, in the end, he wouldn't really want to anyway. 

"OK," he said again. "Sorry."

"You're forgiven," George pronounced, and stood. Fred groaned. 

"Do we have to go?" he whined. "I'm sleepy and the couch … so comfortable … like … bed …"

"Up, brother mine," George said briskly, and hauled him to his feet. "We'll Floo ourselves home, Ron, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind."

"Well." The twins paused and there was an awkward silence. "Be good," George said finally, and held out his hand. 

Ron realised that this was a just-in-case goodbye, a proper one, and that thought made him feel ill. He took George hand, shook it, and then did the same to Fred. His brothers stepped away – and then stepped back to hug him quickly. When they released him, it seemed they were gone in an instant, and a flash of powder and red hair. 

Immediately, he wanted them back again. There was something so comforting about the twins. He didn't know what it was, but it felt like home.   

~

Harry was sitting on his bed with a book in front of him, quietly turning the pages. He started when Ron came in, and shut it. 

"You're back," he said, and Ron nodded. 

"Yeah."

"I didn't think you'd be in yet."

"McGonagall saw me in the corridor," he said, making a face. "I got out of there as fast as I could."

"Right."

Ron wandered over to Harry's bed and sat down. "What's that?"

"This?" Harry asked, a hand on the cover of the book he'd been reading – except Ron realised now that it wasn't a book. It was an album, a photo album, rather worn about the edges. 

"Yeah, that," Ron said. "Is that photographs?"

Harry shrugged and opened it for him. On the first page was a picture of he, Ron and Hermione in first-year. They were waving. 

"Cor," Ron said, astounded. "Look how titchy we are."

Harry smiled a bit, and flipped the page. A picture of his parents, with baby Harry. Ron looked at it for several moments, and then looked at his friend. 

"Your mum was pretty, wasn't she?" he said, for want of something better. "And your dad looks like you."

Harry glanced at him. "You think so?"

"Course. You could be brothers or something."

Harry went on. A picture of Ron and Hermione, one of Ron and Harry, one of the Weasleys. 

"When did you take that?"

"Hagrid took it for us, at the train station one year."

"I'd forgotten."

A picture of Hagrid followed that, and then one taken at the same time that Hermione's photo had been, in sixth year. Harry still had his sad eyes, but Hermione's hand had snaked into Ron's. There was one of Ginny playing quidditch, and then one of Harry with his broom after a win. The other pages were blank. 

"That's nice."

"Hagrid gave it to me," Harry said shortly. "In first year."

"Right." He hesitated. He never knew how Harry would react to questions these days. "What got you looking at it?"

"Don't know," Harry replied. "Just felt like it."

Harry closed his album and Ron searched for the right thing to say. 

"Harry," he managed finally, "we understand more than you think, OK? So – you can always talk to us." 

Harry didn't reply at first, and Ron thought maybe he was ignoring him, but then he nodded.  

"Sure," he said. "I know."

A silence, and then Ron remembered about the twins, and how their news had been for Harry as much as their brother. 

"Fred and George were downstairs a minute ago."

Harry looked sidelong at him. "What?"

"Fred and George. They came to the common room to let us know what's going on in the world."

"What's going on in the world?" Harry asked grimly, and Ron told him. He seemed to take the information of Voldemort's uprising fairly well, to Ron's surprise, and they sat in another musing silence for a while. When Harry spoke, he sounded like his old self – utterly determined. 

"I want to be prepared," he said. "If I have to fight, I want to be ready."

"You think you'll – have to fight?" Ron asked, not wanting to give away what they knew, and Harry was as cagey as ever. 

"I don't know. Just in case." He glanced at Ron. "We should be learning more Defence. The DA – we can up that to once every two days."

"Harry, we've got N.E.W.T.s in a week …"

"I don't care about bloody N.E.W.T.s!" Harry said loudly. "Do you think that really matters?"

"No," Ron said. "I don't. It's just that we can't do everything – we've got quidditch too, remember?"

"Ron," Harry said firmly, "this is important, more important that any of that. I – we have to learn this stuff, OK? I have to learn it."

"OK," Ron agreed. If Harry was set on this, he'd support him.

They went to their separate beds soon after, but Ron didn't sleep. He was glad Harry was past his denial and ready to face Voldemort properly – but the entire concept of 'facing Voldemort' made his head spin, too. 

How could Harry – how could any of them – face a full-grown, immensely powerful Dark Wizard? They were teenagers, for Merlin's sake, and the things they knew came from schoolbooks. In what way could they possibly defeat him?

He knew he'd never come up with an answer … but tossed and turned all night nonetheless. 


	30. The Calm

A/N – Short chap, but it's more a lead up than anything else. ~so much wasted in the afternoon~ Shez

~

"Can't go in," Ron said feverishly, pulling on the back of Hermione's uniform. "I'm leaving."

"Ron, don't yank at me," she protested, turning around. "What are you talking about?" 

"I can't. I _can't._"

They were standing outside the Great Hall, about to sit their History of Magic exam. This was the first of their N.E.W.T. tests, and he felt horribly ill. The week had gone by in a blur, and it was only in the last few days that he realised he _had _to pass his tests. Hadto, or risk being shouted to death by his mother, or future unemployment, or the twins' teasing – probably all of those, actually. He'd spent much of the past 72 hours in the library, this time with Hermione in his ear, telling him to calm down.

Calm down? Calm _down? _All very well for her to say that – she'd been studying for this her whole bloody life! He'd had three days (or chosen to use three days) and now his palms were sweaty and his head was spinning with nervousness. 

Harry came up behind them and raised a hand hello. 

"Where were you?" Hermione asked, over Ron's shoulder.

"Ginny wanted to wish me good luck, and you two."

Ron and Hermione had made it up with Ginny the day after their spat at dinner, but things were still rather tense. They hadn't told her about the prophecy (keeping their promise to Lupin), but she knew something was being kept from her, on Harry's part as much as Ron and Hermione's. She tried to be graceful about it, but her frustration was frequently evident.

"Hermione!" he hissed, and she refocussed, placing a hand on either side of his face. 

"Ron," she said firmly, "you are going to be fine. Just breathe – are you breathing?"

He breathed noisily and she grinned. Harry clapped a hand on his shoulder. 

"'Mione's right. You'll be OK. You know this stuff."

"I don't!" he said wildly, but then the doors were swinging open, Hermione was planting a quick kiss on his lips, and he was swept forward with the crowd.

By some odd twist of fate, Ron was seated opposite Malfoy. The Slytherin was engrossed in checking his quills, but looked up as the test papers appeared in front of them. He met Ron's eye. They stared at each other for a moment, and Ron muttered: "Good luck."

"You too," Malfoy returned, and then Ron could have sworn he added, under his breath: "You'll need it."

Before he could tell the guy where to get off, there was a call for silence, and he jerked his brain back into gear. Next thing he knew, it was "You may begin", and he couldn't think about Malfoy anymore. 

~

"How was that?" said Hermione as the three of them walked out into fresh air. 

"It – wasn't so bad," Ron admitted. "I mean, it was pretty bad, but I think I knew enough to get by."

"I hope I got that twelve-mark question right," Hermione said, and then quickly brushed it off when she saw his face. "I'm sure I'll get part-marks at least."

She was trying not to dwell on it for his sake, and he realised that he loved that about her. He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her close to him as they wandered. 

"I'm going to the library," Harry said suddenly. 

"What, why?" Hermione asked, disentangling herself. 

"Study some defence," he said shortly, and then headed back to the castle. 

"Do you think we made him feel left out?" Hermione asked anxiously, and Ron shook his head. 

"No – though I wish Ginny was here. I think he really doeswant to study more Defence stuff, for when – you know. He's been at it every day this week, and at weird times. Caught him heading out at dawn on Friday."

"How is he going to do that, _and _prepare for N.E.W.T.s?"

"He'll scrape his N.E.W.T.s without much effort," Ron said. "Remember what you told me that time? Harry's just naturally smart."

"You're naturally smart too," she said, nudging him with a shoulder. "You just don't naturally study."

He grinned. He felt, somehow, very relaxed. One test down – several to go, but at least he'd begun. Voldemort seemed so far away when they were doing all this normal stuff, and he was about to mention this to Hermione when she said it herself. 

"Isn't it funny? I haven't thought about Voldemort all day." She sighed. "It must be awful to be Harry. I don't see how you could ever get it off your mind, especially with everything the twins said."

"I don't think it _is _off his mind," Ron pointed out soberly. 

"I suppose not. I'd spend all my time in the library too if I knew I had to fight Voldemort."

Ron looked sideways at her. "You don't have to fight him. I mean, you won't."

There was a brief silence. 

"Well," she said, mildly indignant, "I will if I have to."

Ron stopped in his tracks and eyed her. "Ah – no. No you won't."

She stopped too, and put her hands on her hips. "What do you mean, 'no I won't'?"

"I mean, you won't. You can't. You can't go fighting Voldemort."

"Excuse me?" she said, raising her eyebrows so high that they almost disappeared. "I'll do whatever's necessary, Ron Weasley, and if that involves fighting him, like in fifth year …"

"Don't even mention fifth year," Ron cut her off. "You shouldn't have been there."

"I can't believe you just said that! _You'll _be with Harry if you can, won't you?"

"Of course."

"Then so will I."

"'Mione!"

"Ron, don't be such a sexist prat!"

She began to march off ahead of him, and he ran to catch up. 

"I'm _not _being sexist," he said angrily. "I'm not. But you think you can do anything, 'Mione, and you take risks when you're so sure of yourself."

She whirled about to face him. "Don't you think a girl can handle herself?"

"Oh for Merlin's sake, this has nothing to do with you being a girl!" he said, putting his hands in his hair and trying to keep his voice down. 

"Then what does it have to do with?"

"With you being my girlfriend, that's what. I wish I could lock you up in the bloody castle sometimes, but you'd charm your way out of there before I even got the door shut. If you – if anything happened to you – if you were killed, I'd never forgive myself, and I'd – I don't know what I'd do," he finished, dropping his hands rather helplessly.

She looked at him for some time, and then shook her head.

"You're the one with the scars here, Ron. Don't you think I feel the same way?"

"I don't know," he said lowly, and kicked at the ground with one foot. 

"I do."

He looked up, and she took a few steps forward so that she was close to him again. 

"I can't stop you from being at Harry's back, and you're not going to stop me either," she continued, and managed to get a hold of his hand. 

"I know," he admitted. "Just thought I'd try."

"I'll be careful, if that's any consolation," she said, and he shook his head and smiled a bit. 

"No you won't," he said. "But it's OK. We'll be together, anyway."

She bit her lip. "We shouldn't make plans like this when we don't know what's going to happen."

"We're not making plans," Ron replied, feeling rather weary. "Come on, I don't want to talk about it now."

They walked for a while longer about the lake, and then went back to the castle, Ron to get ready for his Divination practical, Hermione for her Runes exam. 

~

When N.E.W.T.s were finally over, it was an anti-climax – but these things always are. They all just put their quills down, blew on their parchment to dry it, handed in their tests papers and walked out. Nobody cheered, but there was quiet murmuring and a generally lighter atmosphere. 

Harry, Ron and Hermione were walking together when somebody stepped out of an alcove in the corridor and tapped Harry on the arm. He turned, and it was Ginny, smiling widely.

"Hello," she said.

"Hello," he returned, surprised, and hugged her. Ron and Hermione stopped and waited for them. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Truanting from Care of Magical Creatures," she said cheerfully. 

"Gin." Hermione's tone was reproving, but Ginny hushed her. 

"Oh, who cares? It's my last class for today, and I wanted to congratulate you. So congratulations." She turned back to Harry, who still had his arms around her. "Congratulations," she repeated, more softly, and a slow smile spread across his face. Ron hadn't seen one of those in a while, and found himself exhaling, as though he'd been holding his breath. 

"Well – thanks," Harry said, flushing, and glancing at Ron and Hermione. "Er – I'm going to hang out with Ginny for a while."

"Sure," they said, almost in unison. They looked at each other, and then Ron nodded a bit. "Sure," he went on, "that's fine. We'll go – hang out by ourselves."

"Have fun," Hermione added, even as the two ducked away. Then she sighed happily and hooked her arm through Ron's. "That's so nice, even if she was skipping her lesson."

"Yeah. Some shagging will be good for him." 

She slapped him on the arm, hard, and he winced. "What?" he protested. "It will be!"

"Boys, honestly."

"Girls, honestly," he said, mimicking her, and she slapped him again. He caught her in a headlock (fairly gently) and messed up her hair. She giggled and fought him furiously, nearly dislocating his shoulder at one point, but he held on for dear life. He loved playing this kind of game with her, and wished they did it more often. She would never ask him to stop, instead wriggling around until she was out of his grip, no matter how long it took. It was kind of like their tickling games – except those usually meandered into messy snogging.

This time, however, Ron released her fairly quickly. Malfoy was watching from a bench against the wall, and he felt uncomfortable with the Slytherin's eyes on them.

"What?" Hermione asked, bewildered, as he dropped his arm and flattened her hair. 

"Nothing," he muttered, but she'd already seen Malfoy. 

"Ron," she said in an undertone, "you are the most ridiculous boy on the planet."

"I don't like him looking at us," Ron said, after they'd passed. "It's bad enough that he knows we have sex."

"You said sex," she whispered, exaggeratedly wide-eyed. 

"Laugh if you want to," he said, a bit bleakly, "but I don't like him and I never will."

"He's stopped patrolling with me, pretty much."

"Really? Altogether?"

"He shows up occasionally. We don't really talk like we used to."

"You used to talk?"

"We used to have conversations, at least. Have you noticed how – silent he is this term?"

"It's because he wants you and can't have you," Ron said. That was explanation enough, in his books. "He's still his obnoxious Slytherin self under it. Made a rude comment to me in our History test."

"Oh well," Hermione said, as though washing her hands of the matter. "Perhaps he's settling down."

"And perhaps he's not coming to get you for patrols because he knows you're – otherwise engaged?" Ron suggested. 

She looked at him sideways as they went up the stairs. "Where are we going now?"

"I don't know. I was following you."

"I was going to my room."

Ron pretended to consider this for a moment, and then shrugged in mock-reluctance. "Well, I guess I'll just have to come with you."

He felt glad and easy and comfortable – and he should have known it was the calm before the storm. 

~

A/N: Hang on for what's upcoming. Next few chaps may take me a little while, but I'll do my best. In the meantime, I leave you with these words: "Guys were watching _The Fifth Element _on the bus today - I sat down, but after seeing no reference to Boron for 20 minutes, I left disappointed. Hollywood is all false promises." Hehehe. ~Shez.


	31. The Storm

A/N: Sorry about the delay, this took me a while. And thank you for reviews in my absence. They were lovely. ~Let's move it along~ Shez 

~

It was the Saturday after N.E.W.T.s, and Harry and Ron had arrived in the quidditch change-rooms early to, in Harry's words, 'prepare themselves'. Ron didn't want to prepare, beyond putting his uniform on. He just wanted to play the final, and get it over and done with. 

Harry was already in his uniform, and was now sitting silently on a bench. He looked rather ill, and Ron sat next to him, concerned. 

"You OK?"

"Fine," Harry muttered, after a brief pause. "I'm good."

"Not nervous?"

"No."

"Good, you shouldn't be. We're going to kick their arses, Harry. You know it."

"Yeah. We will."

He still looked a little pale. 

"Are you sure you're alright?" Ron asked. 

Harry nodded abruptly and stood up. "Yeah. Feel a bit weird. Pre-game butterflies. I really want this to work out."

"I know, mate. It'll be fine."

Ginny, Alice and Parvati came in through the girls' room at that point, talking lowly, and Ron could hear Seamus and Colin in the corridor outside. Harry picked up his broom determinedly, and Ron went over to Ginny. 

"Hey," he said, tapping her on the arm, and she turned. 

"Hey."

"Have you seen 'Mione?"

"She's on her way."

"Are you sure she's coming?"

Ginny snorted. "Like she'd miss your final game. Honestly."

"Right. Right." 

He was trying to suppress the anxiety he felt about this match, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. It was more for Harry's sake than Gryffindor's that he was worried. Harry was only just beginning to come back to himself, and still wavered on the edge of depression. Losing the Quidditch Cup could tip him in the wrong direction. 

Ginny moved away from him to Harry, who was checking his broom tips meticulously. She smiled and said something, and Harry put his broom down and hugged her. Watching them, Ron understood that they were right for one another, in the same way that he felt he and Hermione were right for each other. They matched. 

If Ron had never met Harry, and never been his friend, he and his sister very likely wouldn't be together now. It was an odd thought, and he had the sudden, equally odd sensation of time sliding by – first year, and second year, and on and on to the present moment. It didn't seem so long ago that Ginny was begging to come to Hogwarts with him, or that he happened to choose the train carriage in which he met his best friend, and his future girlfriend. 

"Hello?" came a call from outside, and Ron started, and went out. Hermione was standing there. Her hair was a mess – she'd run all the way from the castle, he suspected – and she ran a hand over it unconsciously. 

"'Mione," he said. "I was just thinking about you."

"Oh. Well here I am."

"There you are."

He kissed her briefly, and then took a deep breath. "Nervous," he admitted, and she straightened his robes in response. Beneath them, he was wearing the Chudley Cannons sweatshirt she'd given him, and when her fingers touched the collar, she smiled. 

"Don't be nervous," she said firmly. "It's going to be alright."

"I just hope Harry doesn't – you know, what happened last time. Lose his concentration."

"He won't. He's calmed down an awful lot. And he's focussed, too."

"You're right. OK, you're right. Ah, Merlin," he muttered and rolled his shoulders. Hermione laughed and chucked him under the chin.

"You'll be fine," she said. "I'm going up to the stands."

"Wait, you didn't bring a book, did you?"

"Well – one, in my bag. Just in case."

"'Mione!"

"Oh, I can't help it," she protested. "I take a book everywhere. I'm not going to read it."

"You'd better bloody not!"

"I won't."

"Ron, get in here," came Harry's voice, and Ron turned slightly to call back to him.

"Aye-aye, Captain." He shrugged at Hermione. "Got to go."

"I'd better too, or I won't find a seat. Good luck, love you."

"Love you."

She kissed him swiftly on the cheek and hurried off down the corridor. He watched her go for a little while, and then went back into the change-rooms. The team members were forming their usual huddle, and Ron poked his head in between Ginny and Seamus. 

"All here?" Harry said lowly. "Good. Now, this is it. We have to win this if we want the Cup. And we want the cup, right?"

"Right," they agreed, in quiet unison. 

"OK. That means we have to –" Harry paused, and said nothing for a moment. Then he shook his head as though to clear it. It was like he couldn't remember what he'd been saying.

"We have to …" Ginny prompted him, and he blinked, and launched back into his speech. 

"We have to be focussed. We have to work as a unit. Seamus and Colin, we're going to need you to head off those Bludgers, at any cost. We can't afford to lose a player. Gin, Alice, Parvati –"

"Yes, sir?" Ginny murmured, and Harry managed a smile before continuing. 

"You'll need to watch that Slytherin Keeper. He's a nasty piece of work, but he's a fast blocker. He'll intercept you unless you can confuse him into leaving an opening."

"We know," she said softly, and he nodded. 

"I know you do. Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"Just do your thing, OK?"  
Ron grinned. "OK."

"And you, Harry," Colin said eagerly. "You've got to watch out for the Snitch, don't you?"

"Yeah, Colin," Harry said, with an effort. "I'll do that. We ready?"

McGonagall's voice sounded above, and the group stepped away from one another to grab their brooms. 

"Come on," said Harry, visibly squaring his shoulders. "Up to the pitch."

~

The roar of the crowd in the morning air was deafening. Ron leant over to speak to Ginny, and literally couldn't hear himself. _Everybody _was out – he was quite sure there wouldn't be a single person left in the school, apart from those with Madame Pomfrey perhaps. Anyway, it was a wild sea of faces, all screaming and cheering for their teams. Three-quarters of the crowd wore maroon. The rest were decked out in green and silver. Ron smiled and tapped Harry when he saw this, but his friend was watching the sky. It was mostly blue, with a few wisps of cloud in the distance. 

The Slytherin team were approaching from the other side, Malfoy at their head. His hair was slick and glowing in the sun, and he had a strange smile playing around his lips. Ron had to clench his jaw when he saw Malfoy's face. So, the prat thought he was going to win, did he? 

Not today. 

Harry and Malfoy met in the middle, with Madame Hooch. 

"Let's have a safe game," she said. "Shake hands."

They did so. Malfoy broke away first and swung a leg over his broom, and Harry quickly did the same. The team members followed their examples and were soon waiting in readiness. Ron's heart thudded at rapid pace.

"On my whistle," Hooch called, and the stands quieted somewhat. "Three … two … one …"

They shot immediately into the sky, and Ron felt that giddy sensation he always had when flying, as though he'd left his body behind. He swept straight over to the Slytherin goals and positioned himself in front of them, with what he hoped was a threatening expression plastered across his face. 

~

The game was tough. They'd been playing for an hour, and though Gryffindor had a twenty-point lead, Slytherin managed to keep pace. Harry was desperate for the Snitch, and was looping the pitch every few minutes, eyes narrowed. There had been a few close calls in which he'd almost got a hold of the thing, but he'd missed it each time (usually due to interference from Malfoy).  

Ron was playing reasonably well, and for that he was grateful. It would have been awful to play like shite in his final game, with the entire school watching. 

He was just beginning to think that this wouldn't be so bad, that they'd pull through with a win, when there was a strange muttering from the crowd. Ron scanned the pitch, and saw what they saw – Harry, poised in mid-flight, hovering right in the middle of the field. He had that blank expression on his face and was completely still. 

Only a few team members from either side had noticed yet, and though Hooch would soon call a halt to the game if he didn't move. Ron was torn between staying at the goals and checking on his friend. Just as he was about to duck over, Ginny went swooping over to Harry from one end, and Malfoy came from the other. 

"Harry!" Ginny was shouting as she came towards him. "Are you OK?"

Hooch blew her whistle and called for Harry to descend, and the crowd's mutters were heavier now, rippling through the stands. 

Ginny took hold of Harry's arm and still, he did not move. She gave his arm a shake, but, instead of waking, he slid sideways, almost in slow motion, and tumbled directly from his broom. The sleeve of his robe was torn from her hand and she screamed as he fell. 

"Catch him!" Malfoy bellowed, and Ron began to dive himself, but a few feet from the ground, Hooch hit him with the appropriate spell and Harry stopped. 

The crowd was roaring now, and Ron had a very bad feeling about this, a feeling in his stomach. He frowned as Malfoy took out his wand and pointed it at his own throat, murmuring. When he next spoke, his voice was so loud that it rang out across the pitch.

"Quiet!" he said. "Be quiet!"

McGonagall, whose voice was also magically modified, spoke up from her place. "Thank you, Mr Malfoy, I believe I can take it from here."

Malfoy eyed her and then shook his head. "No, you can't."

Before anybody could react to this, he'd spun to the person nearest to him – Ginny. He didn't touch her, but aimed his wand directly in her face. She had tears on her cheeks from seeing Harry fall, but now her eyes went wide. 

Ron flew to her, but paused a few metres away at the look on the Slytherin's face. 

"I'll kill her if you do anything," Malfoy said, and the words echoed. The crowd was eerily silent with fear, and Ginny was breathing hard. Ron stared at his sister, and at Malfoy, and felt his heart drop away. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" he said faintly. 

"Just what needs to be done," Malfoy replied, with an arrogance that made him want to throw the Slytherin to the ground. This was too far, too far even for Malfoy, and Ginny was teary, and this was making his head spin. 

"Mr Malfoy," came a thunderous voice from the main stand, and Malfoy looked up. It was Dumbledore, furious and aiming his wand at Malfoy. "Release that child at once!"

"No," Malfoy said coolly. "I won't."

Now there were shrieks from the crowd, because people in black robes were moving through the stands from the back, wands out and shouting. Ron was trembling all over – this was it, this was it, in the middle of their quidditch match, at bloody half past eleven in the morning. 

He looked down. Harry was still floating just above the ground, but now there were two Death Eaters – because there was no doubt in Ron's mind that the people in black were Death Eaters – on either side of him. When Ron looked to the main stand, there were robed figures surrounding Dumbledore as well, and the rest of the staff. They were struggling, naturally, but Malfoy spoke to them again. 

"Don't, or I'll kill her."

Ginny made a whimpering sound, and Ron found that he was crying himself with the helplessness of it all. 

"You will _not_," roared Dumbledore. 

Without blinking an eye, Malfoy flicked his wand at Ginny, clearly pronouncing the word: "Crucio." 

Ron couldn't watch, but there was no way to stop up his ears from his sister's screaming. It went on for what seemed a very long time, and when it stopped, he looked at Ginny, and she was shaking so much that she was in danger of falling from her broom too. Malfoy held her upright with his free arm. 

"I will," he said. "So don't try anything." He spun about (still holding Ginny, who spun with him), facing each stand. "Take them all up to the castle, to each of the common rooms. Remove their wands. Keep them well under guard, with one or two students as hostage to hold the rest. Make demonstrations if necessary. Go."

The crowd were hustled up by the Death Eaters – there seemed to be an awful lot of them, perhaps forty or fifty – and directed out of the stands. They began to file out, fairly subdued, and Ron wished he knew what to do. 

Looking down again, he saw that Harry wasn't there. Malfoy noticed his gaze. 

"He's gone," he said, and Ron glanced sharply at him.

"Where is he?"

"In the hospital."

"Mr Malfoy," Dumbledore said now. He was flanked by four Death Eaters keeping a very wary eye on him, and had been bound with cords of what looked like light.

"Yes, Professor?"

Dumbledore's voice trembled. "I placed trust in you, and you have failed me dismally. You have allied yourself with one of the most evil beings to walk this earth. I ask you now – turn away from your decision. We can defeat Voldemort. We will."

Malfoy didn't say a word. He just nodded once, and the Death Eaters in the staff box began to move them out. 

"Malfoy …" Seamus said, and Malfoy cut him off.

"Shut up. We're going to the castle."

Beneath it all, Ron saw that he was quite tense. His eyes were gleaming rather too brightly. 

"Group together," he went on, and both teams did so. The Slytherins seemed as unaware of what was happening as the rest of them, but a few (children of Voldemort's ex-servants, most of them) put themselves forward immediately with offers of help. Malfoy ignored them, and glanced down at a figure in black sitting in one of the front rows. 

"How was that?" he said, his voice no longer echoing, and the figure pulled back his hood to reveal long blonde hair and hard, dark eyes. 

"Very good, my son," said Lucius Malfoy, standing. "Our Lord will be pleased when he has completed his business here."

Ron couldn't even consider this development. He'd managed to move closer to Ginny and was whispering furiously to her. 

"Gin. Gin."

"Ron …" she said faintly. "Oh God. Oh fuck. Ron, help."

"I will. I'll help you."

"Please help me."

"I will."

"I'm scared."

"I know."

"Oh God," she said again, and began to cry, quite unconsciously. 

"I am going to the hospital," Lucius was saying, "to watch all this unfold."

"Yes, Father."

"Join me there."

"Yes, Father."

Lucius strode off, and Malfoy turned to face twelve quidditch players, the thirteenth still at his wand-point, the fourteenth in God knows what state and out of sight. 

"To the ground," Malfoy said, and glanced at Ron. "Don't make me curse your sister again."

~

They stopped at the Slytherin common room first (which Ron recognised from their brief visit in second year), and dropped off the appropriate students. Ron had never seen the Slytherins so quiet and meek. Death Eaters were standing at various points in the room, and Pansy Parkinson and another girl had wands directed at them. There was one boy unconscious on the floor – at least, Ron hoped he was unconscious. 

Once that was done, Malfoy made his way up to Gryffindor tower. Somehow, he knew the way. He must have been watching them all year. He even knew the password. 

Ginny was the first to enter the room, and everybody began to murmur once she came in – with Malfoy's wand at the back of her neck. She tripped on a rug and almost fell, but Malfoy righted her and pushed her onto an armchair. 

"Come on," he said impatiently, and a robed man walked quickly over. Malfoy removed his wand, and the Death Eater pushed his own wand-tip against her temple before she could relax. She cried again for a few moments, and then took a deep steadying breath and forced herself to stop. 

Ron felt guilt welling up inside him. He had to do something, he just couldn't see a way. 

"Move in," Malfoy said, and the Gryffindor team found places in the room. Ron scanned for Hermione, and saw her near the back. Beyond his guilt, he felt a huge rush of relief at seeing her there, and went to her so quickly that he almost tripped himself.  

"Oh my God," she said as he reached her, and then he put his arms around her and hugged her like he'd never hugged anyone in his life. "I thought you were dead or something," she whispered in his ear. "I didn't know where you were. I didn't know where you were."

"I'm here. I'm sorry. Are you OK?"

"I'm OK. Is Ginny OK?"

"Fucking Malfoy put fucking Cruciatus on her, and now he's got some bastard pointing a fucking wand at her head." 

This was the most he'd ever sworn in Hermione's presence, but she didn't say a word about it. 

"And Harry? Where's Harry?"

"Hospital, apparently. I don't know what's happening. Why did he fall?"

"A black-out?"

"I don't know."

"I'm asking," she said suddenly, and pulled away from him. Before he could protest, she was calling out to Malfoy, who was halfway out of the room. 

"Wait!"

"Hermione …" he hissed, and she ignored him, stepping forward. Malfoy had paused in the doorway, and was now turning to look at her. 

"Granger," he said stiffly.

"What's going on?"

"It's not my place to tell you."

"Why not?" she said, and a strange expression passed across his features. 

"I can't," he said eventually. "So don't ask again, or your little friend will be dead."

Hermione flicked her gaze in Ginny's direction, and then looked back to Malfoy. 

"What happened to you?" she asked softly, and Malfoy clenched his jaw. 

"Shut up," he said. 

"You were with us. We were friends. When did it change?"  
A brief silence, and then Malfoy's eyes met hers.

"When I realised that I was never going to be anything to you people that wasn't worthless," he said shortly. "Now sit the fuck down."

Hermione stared at him, and he spun about to leave once more. There was a collective sigh, but then he stopped, and the room held its breath. 

"Granger, Weasley – you come with me."

Neither of them moved. Out of the corner of his eye, Ron could see Lavender, another hostage of the Death Eaters. She was pale, clearly in shock. Dean Thomas stood beside her, attempting to be calm. Colin Creevey had his head between his knees, and an arm around his brother. All over the room, people were full of fear.

This was exactly Voldemort's goal: make them afraid, then make them yours. 

He took a deep breath and moved to take Hermione's hand, squeezing it once.  

_Be brave_, he thought, hoping somehow that she'd understand.

"Alright," Ron said firmly. "Let's go."

~

A/N: More revealed next chap. Will try to be quicker than the last. ~be good to your daughters~ Shez


	32. Revelation and Confrontation

A/N: So much confusion in the ranks! That's how everyone at Hogwarts would be feeling, so I think that's good. I hope this will explain some more anyway. Very sorry about the cliff-hangers. 

~

"I want to know what's going on," Hermione hissed, leaning close to Ron's ear. They were striding down the passageway, Malfoy at their backs, on the way to the infirmary. 

"I don't know. It all came out of nowhere."

"I'm scared."

This is what Ginny had said, and he felt another rush of fear and guilt. "I'm scared too," he admitted lowly.

"Be quiet," Malfoy snapped, and both of them fell silent. Ron wanted to talk to her, more than anything. He wanted to know what was happening. He felt sick and light-headed with the suddenness of it all, the sharp descent from pleasant end-of-test exuberance into chaos and confusion. 

How had the goddamn Death Eaters gotten into Hogwarts? He thought Dumbledore had all kinds of precautions in place. How had Malfoy managed to orchestrate this in the very centre of Voldemort's enemies? And most of all – what was wrong with Harry? Was Voldemort going to arrive at Hogwarts and kill Harry when he was unconscious? 

"Shit," he said under his breath, and Hermione glanced anxiously at him. 

"What, Ron?"

"All this."

"I know," she said, and held his hand harder. 

"Be quiet," Malfoy interrupted again, sounding _very _tense now. They were almost at the hospital.

Then Ron remembered something. He still had his wand. 

Malfoy, presumably in all the strain of taking over Hogwarts, had forgotten, and _all_ fourteen quidditch players had their wands. 

He almost told Hermione, but managed to keep his mouth shut. Granted, there was nothing much he could do with it at the present moment. Malfoy had his wand on both of them, and Hermione was at risk if he tried anything – but it was _something_ nonetheless, something for their side.

Two Death Eaters were stationed outside the hospital wing, each with stony expressions and wands outstretched. When they saw Malfoy behind Ron and Hermione, they relaxed a little and nodded. 

"Young Malfoy."

"Jones. Dolohov," Malfoy said stiffly, and Ron felt Hermione start beside him and clutch at his fingers. Ron had only a vague picture of the man from the fight at the Ministry in fifth year, but he was pretty sure the bastard was burnt into Hermione's memory. After all, he'd almost killed her. Well, the feelingof watching Hermione fall to the ground was burnt into _his_ memory. That feeling was angry and horrified and frightened all mixed up, and he had to exercise a great deal of control in order to stop himself from hitting the guy.

"You've brought company," he said.

Malfoy nodded and did not elaborate. The two Death Eaters said nothing for a moment, and then nodded too.

"Go in," said Jones. "Your father is expecting you." 

He opened the door, and the first thing Ron saw was Harry lying on a single hospital bed, on top of the covers. He was still in his quidditch robes. His eyes were closed. He looked at though he was sleeping – but when they moved closer, Ron saw that his face was sweat-streaked, and his scar red and raw, as though the wound had just been made.

Ron turned his head to focus on the other figures in the room. There were several Death Eaters, mostly hooded. Lucius Malfoy stood at the foot of Harry's bed. Beyond him, to his shock, stood Lupin and Hagrid. The Defence teacher's face was desperate, and yet another Dark wand was directed his way. He did not take his eyes from Harry.

Hagrid was a mess, shaking and close to tears. His mouth was moving but no words were coming out. Ron suspected that he was reliving his time with the giants, and the tortures of the Death Eaters there. Any minute now, he was going to tumble down in a faint. 

Ron looked at Harry again. He was too pale. 

Lucius Malfoy glanced around at their arrival, and his eyebrows shot up.

"You've brought a Mudblood and a Blood Traitor into my presence," he said coolly. "You'd best have an explanation, Draco."

"Potters' friends," Malfoy said swiftly. "You wanted these two," (he jerked his head at Lupin and Hagrid) "to see this because they are close to Potter, and I assumed Granger and the Weasel would be equally welcome additions."

Lucius blinked slowly. "Do not satisfy personal feelings here," he said finally. "It is not yet the place. However, I believe you are right." He turned to Ron and Hermione, and gave a little, mocking bow. "Join us, friends of the once-great Harry Potter, and witness the power of the Dark Lord in all its glory."

Somehow, Ron found a voice within him, and spoke. "Voldemort is coming here?"

Lupin's head moved slightly as he recognised Ron's tones, but he would not remove his gaze from the too-still, too-silent Harry. Hagrid made no reaction. 

Lucius, on the other hand, laughed. A few of the Death Eaters joined in, and Hermione pressed against him on one side. The feeling of her body was so familiar, and he found a certain calm in that, and in taking deep breaths. 

"No," Lucius said, his laughter fading into a thin-lipped smile. "Voldemort will not be coming here."

"Then how," Hermione said quietly, "is Harry supposed to fight him?"

Ron wanted to nudge her, remind her that Voldemort didn't know it was he or Harry who wouldn't be around at the end of it all, but then decided that she knew what she was doing. 

"Don't ask questions that aren't your place to ask," Draco said shortly, but Lucius hushed him. 

"No, no," he said. "The little Mudblood has a point."

He took a few steps away from Harry's bed, towards Hermione, and she stood admirably fast, raising her chin. Ron felt unspeakably proud of her, and at the same time, shit-scared that the elder Malfoy would do something vicious. 

"The Dark Lord is not a fool," he said quietly. "After exposing himself, and suffering defeat a number of times, he realised that, following his old methods, he would not be victorious. He would _not _expose himself again. So he waited, served by a faithful few, and studied his enemy."

That was why they had heard nothing all of sixth year, Ron presumed, trying to see Hermione's face out of the corner of his eye. Voldemort had been thinking up his final plans.

"In the end," Lucius continued, "he decided that there was one arena in which he could certainly defeat Potter, and through which he risked no physical exposure."

"What arena?" Hermione asked, her voice shaky, and Lucius tilted his head. 

"The mind," he said simply. 

Ron looked at Harry yet again, and knew his expression was horrified. Lupin had closed his eyes and dropped his head. Did this mean –

"So," said Lucius, a definite smugness entering his tone, "Lord Voldemort _is _engaged in a confrontation with the Potter child, even as we speak. We just can't see it. They battle within Potter's mind."

Ron knew now why Lupin seemed so devastated. Harry had refused to continue Occlumency lessons with Snape, and no other Hogwarts teacher, besides Dumbledore (who for some reason would not take up the task) was qualified in the subject. After a few lessons in 6th year, Harry had simply stopped going, and Snape never demanded he attend. Ron was not sure if Dumbledore had been aware of this – he didn't see how he could not have been – but no real action had been taken. Perhaps they were concerned enough about Harry's mental state, and the events of 5th year, to let it slide. 

None of the reasoning mattered now, anyway. Even _with _Occlumency, Harry was still only a kid. While prepared for jinxes and curses in abundance, he did not have the mental defences of Voldemort. He was clever – but was clever anywhere _near _enough for the Dark Lord?

They'd never expected this. A non-physical battle had never been in the agenda. 

Ron was just beginning to think, very furiously, that Snape should have insisted on the Occulmency lessons when he remembered something else. 

He hadn't seen Snape at the Quidditch match, and he hadn't seen him being taken hostage. Snape, in fact, did not appear to have been around this morning. 

Which meant that there was a chance he was out and about, and free to contact the Ministry, the Order, Aurors, anybody who might help them, and stop all this before it was too late for Harry. Too late for everyone.

Snape, their ultimate hope. If someone had told him that a few weeks ago – Merlin, a few hours ago – he would have laughed in their faces. Now, he desperately wanted to check with Hermione whether or not she'd seen the Potions master. 

All of these thoughts went through his head in the space of moments, and then Lucius was talking again. 

"My assumption is that Potter is near defeat. Look at his face."

Everybody, almost involuntarily, did so. He was still sweat-soaked and strained, but now trembled a little. There was a stifled sob from Hagrid. 

"How did you get past the wards?" Hermione asked. Ron wished he could speak like her, with such courage, but consoled himself instead with holding her hand. "They're very advanced, and Dumbledore –"

"Dumbledore!" Lucius snapped, striding back to Harry's bedside. "Dumbledore is locked up beneath this castle, and won't be seeing daylight again." He shot a hard look at Hermione. "How did we _do _it? We have been studying this castle for years. We have had excellent curse-breakers and magic-workers under the Imperius curse, researching at every hour, devising plans. We used them until they gave way, and then we found other useful servants. That is the problem with you Muggle-lovers – you lack ruthlessness. You lack the drive that is needed to propel a person to power. You simply lack the willingness to take whatever you need and mould it to advantage."

"That's not a problem," came a voice. All turned, and Ron realised, to his shock, that it was Lupin. The man looked tired and faded, but had a gleam of determination in his eye that Ron had never seen before. 

"What did you say?" Lucius hissed, and Lupin straightened a little, directly meeting his eye. 

"That's not a problem," he said. "That's what will save us. Our leaders place value in others. You – you will never be important to Voldemort. You're disposable – every one of you – and in the end, there won't be any people left to use."

Lucius Mafloy stared at the Defence teacher for a few moments, visibly grinding his jaw, and then nodded briefly at a robed figure to his left. The Death Eater stepped forward, and muttered a calm: "Cruciatus."

Lupin screamed immediately, and the sound echoed between the stone walls. He dropped to the floor, while Hermione gave a small yelp, and dug her fingers into Ron's arm. Ron wanted to scream himself, and remembered his sister. 

Lupin fainted after almost a minute, and nobody moved to wake him. Hermione was struggling to hold back tears, but Ron was too shocked to even cry. He just stood there and tried to keep her upright and wished that he could wake up, that this wasn't real. 

"What are you going to do when it's all over?" Hermione asked then. "If you lose?"

Lucius looked all around the room, meeting each person's eye, and finally his gaze came to rest upon his son. Draco had been standing behind Ron and Hermione all this time, silent, his wand hovering between the two. 

"Draco," said his father, nodding at Hermione. "You can dispose of this one now. She asks too many questions."

Malfoy did not move for a moment, then took a half-step forward. "Sir?"

"Immediately, if you please."

Ron absorbed these words and felt himself begin to shake as he understood their implication. He spun to face Malfoy, shaking his head. 

"No," he said. "Don't. No. Malfoy, don't."

Malfoy said nothing and looked at Hermione. She was staring at the floor, biting her lip, and a tear dropped off the end of her nose. Ron's heart was aching and his head had gone wild with fear. He reached out a hand to touch Malfoy's sleeve, but then let it drop back to his side again. 

"Please, Malfoy," he said urgently, his voice cracking. He was begging and he didn't care. "Please don't. Please don't hurt her. Malfoy, don't fucking hurt her. Don't."

"Shut up," he snapped, but Ron spoke over him. 

"Please don't. Jesus. Don't hurt her."

"Shut up, Weasley," he said again, and swallowed, facing Hermione. 

"_No_," Ron shouted, and grabbed the back of Malfoy's coat. The Slytherin shrugged him off immediately, and then there were hands on Ron's arms, holding him back. He kicked, connected with a shin, and received a dizzying blow to the back of his head. He could see Hermione over Malfoy's shoulder, and she was staring at him. Ron knew he was yelling, shouting at Malfoy not to hurt her, and he knew that others were yelling at _him_, saying he'd be next, but he didn't care. He could hardly hear them. He could only see her, and it was like the world had slid into slow motion. 

Malfoy's wand was against her throat. She was crying. She mouthed _I love you_ at him. He forced himself to keep watching her, trying to preserve this moment, trying to keep her alive by sheer will-power.

There was a long, agonising silence, in which nobody moved – including Malfoy. He just stood there, pointing his wand. He didn't speak, though his mouth was half-open. Ron felt a strange, small surge of hope, and then Lucius stormed forward and snatched the wand from his son.

"You ridiculous boy," he hissed. "What are you doing?"

"I – don't know," Malfoy began, but Lucius cut him off.

"You don't know? Perhaps I'll need to speak to our Lord once he has killed the Potter boy. Perhaps you've been spending too much time with that doddering fool Dumbledore after all."

"No, father, I –"

"Perhaps," Lucius went on loudly, "I was wrong ever to come to you this year. Perhaps you were not such a faithful servant in my absence. Perhaps you are full of _lies_ and _deceit._"

"No, father, I am a true and faithful servant!" Malfoy said, his voice a near-shriek. "Today – in the game –" 

"A true and faithful servant, yet you cannot even turn your wand upon your enemy? _Perhaps _I should have addressed your commitment more carefully."

"Give me my wand!" Malfoy insisted, sounding dangerously hysterical. "I'll kill her! I will!"

"You are too weak," Lucius said, shaking his head. "I thought with your display of leadership this morning, that you had changed. But you, my son, will always be weak, and unworthy of my name."

Lucius twirled his son's wand once in his hand, and then placed its tip delicately against the pulse in Hermione's throat, eyes still on Draco. The younger Malfoy stood rigid and unmoving, but there was a twitch above his eye and a strange cast to his features. He looked to be near breaking-point. 

"Please, no," Ron said, in a voice so low that nobody but himself heard it. He closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to watch Hermione die, but his mind was full of pictures, achingly sweet and painful. Her hair and all its curls, a mess in the morning, spread out across his pillow – her hands stained with ink – her face all concentration as she checked his homework for him – her lips with chocolate on them – the curve of her hip –

Without knowing quite what he was doing, he put a hand inside his robes. He was just able to reach his wand, which was poking out from the inside pocket, and when his fingers touched it, it was like they were on fire. He yanked it out, and the people on either side of him were so surprised that they released their grip, just slightly. It was enough. He lunged forward and screamed the Falling Jinx at Lucius, who dropped like a sack of potatoes to the floor. 

Immediately, fifteen other people were screaming, the Death Eaters re-directing their wands, and Hermione was covering her face with her hands. Ron ignored the noise and looked at her, then at Malfoy, and then at the people surrounding him. Any second now, one would curse him to death, and that would be the end of it all. He wished he'd done more with his life. 

Then Harry made a sound. It was a deep, long inhale, and Ron didn't know if it was release or relief, didn't know what it meant, but just to see him do _something _was good. Somehow, they'd all heard it, as though they'd been listening for Harry throughout these lesser conflicts. The small crowd quieted. Ron was forgotten. All attention was fixed on the Boy Who Lived, as he let out the breath he'd taken in, and his scar began to – glow. 

"Is that supposed to happen?" one of the Death Eaters muttered, and they all shifted uneasily. 

The glow from the scar spread quickly, over Harry's face and his arms, down his legs, into his hair. Soon his whole body was shining. There was a strange ringing in the air – where it had come from, Ron had no idea, but it made him feel a bit ill. He couldn't take his eyes off Harry. The light grew steadily brighter.

Then Harry, still with eyes closed, opened his mouth, and let out a sound so terrible that Ron knew it was Voldemort and not his friend – that it was Voldemort shrieking from inside Harry. It was like a scream and a wail and a roar in one, and it filled the whole room.

Beyond this noise from Harry, he heard footsteps running along the corridor outside, and sharp cries. He tried to call out and say 'we're here', but his voice wouldn't work anymore. He didn't need to, anyway. The door blew open, and Snape was standing there, flanked by Nymphadora Tonks and Mad-Eye Moody. _How did they find us? _he thought briefly, but there were no answers. A host of others followed behind them, and as Ron tried to absorb them all, they went rushing into the room with wild battle cries. They were fighting like mad things, already bruised and cut and dirty, with jinxes and curses he mostly didn't recognise. 

Harry had stopped screaming, but Ron couldn't see him in between the people. He saw Hermione instead, standing just where she'd been when Malfoy had threatened to kill her. They met eyes – and then he took five rapid steps forward and grabbed her. She wrapped her arms around him, fingernails digging into his back, her head tucked up beneath his chin. 

"You're still here," he breathed in her ear. 

"Ron, _behind you_," was her response, and he turned automatically, wand out. It was Lucius Malfoy, recovered from his fall, and a murderous gleam in his black-as-black pupils. 

"I'll kill you both," he snarled, "and then finish off the Potter boy, if the Dark Lord finds the task too difficult!"

"_Expelliarmus,_" Ron shouted.

The spell was easily deflected.

"Er – _Stupefy! Caligare! Stupefy!_"

Again, deflected. Hermione was muttering jinxes in his ear, but it was like he couldn't understand her, and his mind was blank. Lucius seemed to know this. He put out his wand, and smiled an awful smile. 

"_Ava –_" he began, and at this point Ron thought of something. 

"_Examino,_" he said, as clearly as possible, and Lucius could not finish the curse. He did not have the breath for it. He gagged and choked, frowning at the two of them, and then put both hands to his throat. His wand poked him in the face, but he didn't seem concerned with that. He was making a kind of gargling noise, and then his eyes went wide and glassy, and rolled back into his head. 

He dropped to the floor a second time. Ron didn't know if he was dead or unconscious, but at least he wasn't trying to kill them. 

"Oh my God," Hermione said softly, against the back of his neck. "I taught you that."

Ron was about to reply when something hit him hard on the side of the head. He tumbled, feeling Hermione's hand leave his, and blacked out. 

~ 

A/N: Even more explanations to come. This was written at midnight by a very tired, hot, headache-y authoress, so please forgive any mistakes or inconsistencies. Hang on for the next bit. ~I'll be around~ Shez


	33. Enough

When Ron woke, the first thing he noticed was a dim orange light shining from his bedside table. He opened his eyes properly, and saw that it was night-time, and that the light was coming from a small lamp. He turned his head slightly – he was still in the hospital wing, but in bed now, and under the sheets. There were other people there too. He couldn't see them in the darkness, but he could hear their quiet sleep-breathing. 

"Welcome back, Mr Weasley," came a calm voice, and he physically started, half sitting up. The movement made his head spin, but at least he could see who was speaking to him.   
It was Dumbledore. He was lit up with orange lamplight, and he looked exactly as he always had, warm and powerful. The only difference was a faint bruise on his right cheek, and a healing scratch across his neck. 

"Professor Dumbledore," Ron said croakily. 

"Ronald Weasley. Good evening – or good morning, I should say."

"What time is it?"

"Two o'clock. I believe you've just missed our Head Girl."

Ron sat up again, too quickly, and winced. Dumbledore put out a calming hand, his face assuming a pained expression.

"Please, Mr Weasley," he said lowly. "Do be careful, or Poppy will have me out."

"Hermione's OK?"

"She's fine – largely thanks to you, I believe."  
Ron shook his head immediately, even as memories began to flood back, spilling over the early-morning fog that had taken over his brain. Harry falling. Malfoy – both Malfoys. Hermione holding his hand. Dolohov and the other Death Eaters. His best friend, glowing and screaming.

"What about –" he began, almost involuntarily, and Dumbledore cut in. 

"Harry?" Dumbledore removed his glasses. "He isn't yet awake."

"But he's alive?" Ron said, and the headmaster's nod sent relief swooping through his stomach. "Thank Merlin."

"Indeed," agreed Dumbledore, very gravely. "He is alive, and we must all be thankful."

"What about Voldemort, sir?"

"The Death Eaters are subdued. They've have been questioned, and Ministry Aurors sent to the headquarters revealed in these interrogations. The wizard formerly known as Voldemort was found alone, in a small house on the grounds of what was once his family establishment. The house used to belong to the caretaker, now deceased. Harry would have recognised the village cemetery. At any rate, he was found there – quite dead."

"Dead?" Ron repeated faintly, and Dumbledore nodded. 

"Dead."

"Not like before, when everybody thought …"

"No, Mr Weasley. Not like before. He is dead, and he won't be back again."

There was a long silence in which Ron attempted to digest this. No Voldemort anymore, not ever. No more fear, for his family or his friends or his girlfriend. Some return to normality, and the way things used to be, like when he was a kid.

"Perhaps you should lie down," Dumbledore suggested gently, and Ron did so.

"How do you think Harry is?" he asked eventually, and Dumbledore gave a slight shrug. 

"It is impossible to say. All _seems _well, but there will be a number of scars – mental scars – from which he will not quickly recover."

"I don't understand how he won," Ron admitted. 

"Why is that?" Dumbledore said. "Is it because he is a boy, and Voldemort was a Dark wizard, whose mind was surely better trained in magical discipline?"

"Well – yeah."

Dumbledore smiled, just a little. "Voldemort could never have won an internal battle with Harry, for a very simple reason. _We are not only mind. _We are emotion, too. We are soul and spirit. And in those criteria, Harry is far better equipped than Voldemort. For the better part of seven years, he has been surrounded by people who love him, and he has loved them too. He has learnt courage and sacrifice and loss and honour. He is filled, right down to his very bones, with the love of his absent parents, even his godfather, who gave their lives in his defence. In short, he is a more _complete _man than Voldemort could ever hope to be. Voldemort learnt nothing that did not serve his own interests. I'd like to say that he did not have a soul, but this is not the case – it was simply so underfed as to be almost non-existent. He saw intellect as his salvation – but ultimately, in his assumption that this facet of our humanity can be set apart from the rest, he constructed his own downfall."  

The Headmaster sat back in his seat and Ron tried not to stare at him. His words made a certain kind of sense, but it was very early in the morning, and his head throbbed in a monotonous rhythm. 

"Oh," was his eventual response. "Right."

Dumbledore smiled again, with rather more amusement this time. "I see I have taxed you. Please, sleep. We will speak about this later."

"No, wait. Uh, I mean, wait Professor. Sorry."

"No, no. You are quite right. This is not the place for titles. Call me Albus, if it makes you feel better."

This thought was far too frightening to contemplate. 

"That's alright, Professor," he mumbled, and then cleared his throat. "I just have questions."

"Ah," Dumbledore said. "I understand, Mr Weasley, but I am afraid it is not the time or place. All we be explained to you in due course."

"When?" he said, surprisingly himself with his own insistence, but Dumbledore did not appear to be offended. 

"Soon," he said firmly. "Later this morning. For now, I ask that you rest yourself. You have a concussion, from both a blow to the head and the knock you received when you hit the floor. Please – sleep."

Very reluctantly, Ron nodded and settled back on his pillows. As soon as he had accepted this proposal, he felt so tired that he could hardly keep his eyes open. Blurrily, between his half-closed lids, he saw Dumbledore stand up. The headmaster patted his hand a moment, and then walked away, shoes echoing sharply on the floor. 

Ron slept. 

~

He woke next at the clattering of bottles against metal, and quiet cursing. Facing his left, he opened his eyes, and saw Fred carrying a tray of potions, now balanced precariously against one another. 

"Shit-bugger-wank," Fred muttered, and then saw Ron watching him, and jumped. "Christ! Hello. You're awake."

"What are you doing here?" he asked, confused, and Fred's eyes dropped immediately to the bed next door to Ron. George was lying there, asleep, his right hand in bandages. 

"What happened?" Ron asked faintly, feeling his throat constrict, and Fred said nothing as he stared at his twin. 

"Oh, he's alright," he managed eventually. "He's fine. Going to be fine. We came with the Order, to fight, you know. Death Eater knocked him out, and his hand's stuffed apparently, for now at least. But he'll be fine."

Fred said all this so fast that Ron wasn't sure if he'd caught it all. The twin flushed red and sat on the chair between his two brothers, balancing the tray on his knees.

"Anyway," he said, a bit calmer, "Pomfrey asked me to bring these out. This one's yours."

He passed Ron a glass with a tiny measure of liquid in it. 

"What is it?" Ron asked, sitting up, and Fred shrugged. 

"I don't know, Ronniekins. Maybe this is all an elaborate ruse, and there are people out to poison you." He dropped the sarcasm and rubbed at his forehead. "Drink the damn potion."

"Sorry," Ron muttered, and took it. Fred looked at him, took the empty glass, and then sighed. 

"Sorry too," he said. "It's been a long night what with defeating Voldemort's little cronies, and then running around after you and George and Ginny …"

"Ginny?" Ron said, almost spitting out his potion. He swallowed quickly, and then spoke again. "Gin? Where is she? Is she OK?"

"She's OK," Fred said, looking a bit grim. "And she's over there."

Ron followed Fred's gaze, and found Ginny in the bed opposite. She was asleep, her hair tumbled across her pillow, and very pale. 

"She's had a calming potion, and stuff to help her muscles. They're sore from the Cruciatus that fucking Malfoy put on her." He literally clenched and unclenched his hands and Ron remembered Malfoy's part in it all more clearly. 

"Where is he?" he asked, subdued, and Fred shook his head. 

"Here in the hospital wing. He got knocked out in the battle apparently. Dumbledore wouldn't let the Ministry take him yet."

"_What_?"

"I don't know. I don't know why. I want to punch his face in, that's all I know."

"What about the other Malfoy?"

"Dead," Fred said, sounding very satisfied. "Somebody hit him with a breath-loss curse, and he's dead."

_I did that_, Ron thought, and didn't know how it made him feel.

"Oi," said George hoarsely. His eyes were still closed, but he was clearly awake. "Can't a bloke get some sleep around here?"

"Sorry, Georgey," Fred said quietly, a smile creeping onto his face. "Want me to fluff your pillows? I could hold your hand if you like."

"Shut it," George said tiredly, but smiling a bit himself. 

Ron looked from one brother to the other, and at the black marks under Fred's eyes. He really must have had a terrible night. Ron could hardly imagine Fred without George. He didn't know what would become of the twins if they ever lost each other, but Fred must have had that fear in the past twenty-four hours or so.

"Mum and Dad here?" he asked after a little while, and Fred was about to reply when there was a sharp intake of breath from the doorway. 

Ron looked up. It was Hermione. She was wearing the same thing she'd had on the previous morning. Her eyes were puffy, and her hair was dishevelled and run through with knots, but he thought she was pretty much the most beautiful thing he'd seen in a long time. 

"Hey," he croaked, and she ran forward and threw herself at him, on top of him, crying and hugging him and planting kisses on his face. 

"Oh my God," she sobbed, "you're awake. I thought you were dead when you fell over. I missed you. Don't fall over ever again, OK? I jinxed the man who got you. I'm so happy you're awake. Did you drink your potion? Are you OK?"

"Fine," he managed, even though his head was throbbing with the shock of her leap. "I'm fine." 

He put his arms around her properly and his head on her shoulder. His heart was going fast. She stopped speaking and lay quietly, apart from a few tears, clutching him as though she didn't intend to let go. Her hair fell into his face, but he didn't mind. 

"Well," Fred said eventually. "Do all of us get that reception, Hermione, or just the twats who hurt themselves? If it's the latter – I think George needs a hug."

"If you wouldn't mind," George said plaintively. "Just a quick one."

Hermione gave them a look, and they grinned simultaneously (albeit George rather painfully). Even after a death-defying battle, they could still be smart-arses. Ron caught Fred's eye, and the twin gave him a broad wink and appreciative nod. Ron tried to ignore him.

"Where's Harry?" he said in her ear.

"My room," she said in his. "Dumbledore put him there."

"Everyone else?"

"All milling about in the Great Hall. I was just down there for breakfast, and nearly got swamped. Everyone's in shock. Parents keep owling, and people from the _Daily Prophet _have turned up. McGonagall sent them away, and turned one into a teapot for a while."

"Lovely." He breathed in her smell, and it was sweet and exactly her. "Are _you _OK?"

"I'm OK," she said lowly, and he knew she wasn't really, but it would have to do. "I'm just glad it's over."  
Ron was almost too scared to ask, but forced himself. "Did we – I mean, did anyone – did we lose anyone?"  
There was a long pause and then Hermione sat up, and swung her legs around so that she was perched on the side of his bed. Now his heart was really going fast. He had to know, and gripped her hand hard.

"A Slytherin boy and a girl from Ravenclaw are both dead. Neville Longbottom is missing; he struggled when they tried to curse Luna, and the Death Eaters took him away, nobody quite knows where. Some other people aren't well, but are recovering. Dumbledore's alright, just a couple of scratches. He tried to fight his way out from underground, I think, but he won't say. Snape's his usual self."

"Why wasn't Snape there in the morning?" Ron interrupted.

"He was leaving the dungeons when he heard noises beneath the flagstones. There's a passage down there, an old cellar they dug into from the outside. At least, that's what I gathered from the teachers. From there, they got into the Quidditch change-rooms once everyone was on the pitch, and made their way up to the stands. Something like that, something very simple. McGonagall's fuming that they could have missed it. Snape got out as soon as he could and contacted – well, you saw them."

"Right," said Ron. "They should've seal that up."

"They would have found another way to get in. Anyway, it's – well, it's Lupin who we're most worried about," Hermione went on. "He's at St Mungo's. He's not well. They think – he'll probably die. Tonks is a mess. I think they were together."

_Lupin_. For God's sake, Lupin couldn't die. Harry couldn't lose another person he loved, not after all this. Not after Sirius. He couldn't lose another father. 

"I suppose we should count our blessing," Hermione said shakily, eyes on her feet. "The Death Eaters were so focussed on Harry and Voldemort, that they weren't very violent. Lucius Malfoy wanted it to go smoothly until the Dark Lord won, and then they could do what they liked. But still … even if it's better than we hoped for … still … it's horrible, isn't it?"

She looked like she might cry again and Ron rubbed her hand awkwardly. Fred and George maintained a rare, solemn silence.

"He's not dead yet," Ron said. "It'll be OK."

"I suppose so," Hermione murmured. "I suppose there's always a bit of hope."

"More than a bit," he said firmly. "Lots more." 

Another gasp from the doorway, followed by a shriek, and Ron barely had time to look up before his mother was half-strangling him. 

"Ron," she said, near hysterical. "Ron, you're awake! Are you cold? Are you hot? I can open a window. Lord, that bruise is coming up. I'll have to fetch your father from downstairs. Thank Merlin you're awake!"

"Mum … air …" he choked, and she released him, before checking him all over, patting his arms and legs. 

"You don't hurt anywhere?" she said anxiously. "Madame Pomfrey told me you hadn't broken bones, but it's best to check."

"My head's a bit sore, is all."

"Lay off the child," George commented, and Mrs Weasley whipped around. 

"_George!_" she wailed and almost hugged him too, before stopping herself. "Oh, I wouldn't want to hurt your hand. You silly, ridiculous boys! Why did you come?"

"We're part of the Order aren't we?" Fred said indignantly, and Mrs Wealsey had to pull out a handkerchief to mop at her eyes. 

"Of course you are," she said. "But that doesn't mean I want you to throw yourself at You-Know-Who."

"There is no You-Know-Who anymore," Ron said faintly, and all of them were quiet a moment, contemplating this. 

No more You-Know-Who. It still seemed impossible. 

"Are you allowed to get up?" Hermione asked softly, as Mrs Weasley straightened George's doona, and then spun on her heel to go to Ginny. His sister was stirring a little in sleep. 

"I don't know. I suppose. If Pomfrey's not looking."

"Want to see Harry?"

He barely paused to think about it. "Yeah, I do."

~

In Hermione's room, Ron had a brief memory of the last time he was there – sleeping with Hermione, a few nights ago. It was so incongruous with what he saw now that it made him dizzy. The room was neat and almost silent. Harry was lying in Hermione's bed, quite still, but breathing steadily. His scar was red-raw, as it had been earlier, but he wasn't glowing. Dumbledore was sitting beside him. He looked tireder than he had previously, and did not glance up as they entered. 

"Miss Granger, Mr Weasley."

"Professor," they murmured, and went to sit on the other side of his bed. 

The silence returned. Harry did not look much different, really. He looked like the usual sleeping-Harry. There was a slight frown creasing his brow, and his hair was sticking up at the back, but apart from that – he was himself. 

"Miss Granger has told me something of what happened," Dumbledore said suddenly. "As has Mr Malfoy, who remains in my custody."

"Professor –" Ron began, but Dumbledore held up a hand.

"I know how you feel about Draco Malfoy, and I understand that he has betrayed us all in more ways than I can count. What he did is unforgivable, but it did not happen without cause, and perhaps we must all take a little responsibility for that. It is not what I want to discuss." 

"Alright," Ron muttered, and Dumbledore nodded once. 

"Miss Granger has told me something of what happened," he continued, "but even I am at a loss to explain it."

"He glowed," Ron said, eyeing Harry and remembering. "And he screamed, but it was Voldemort."

Dumbledore stared at Harry too, and then sighed heavily. "The mind is a complex place, full of twists and turns that nobody could expect or comprehend. My guess is that whatever spell Voldemort has been using to enter Harry's mind –"

"_Has_ been using?" Hermione interrupted and Dumbledore glanced at her. 

"You mentioned blackouts, of a kind," he said simply. "I believe these were Voldemort's 'tests' on Harry's mind, if you will. Practices for his final confrontation, but so brief that they would not cause concern."

It made sense, and Ron found himself filling up with guilt and taking Hermione's hand for reassurance. They should have done something about those damn blackouts. They should have realised something was wrong.

She squeezed his hand. 'We couldn't have known' the gesture said, and he took a deep breath. 

"And the glowing?" he asked. 

Dumbledore was looking at Harry again. "That, I cannot say for certain. Whatever spell Voldemort used to enter the inner workings of Harry's mind – and it must have been strong and obscure, probably resistant to Occlumency, which he knew Harry had been taught – whatever spell he used, I suspect that Harry's overthrow of it caused a release of energy. This could have been the glow you saw."

Harry shifted slightly, but he was not awake. Perhaps he was dreaming. 

"I don't suppose we'll ever know what really happened between Voldemort and Harry," Hermione said, quietly thoughtful. 

"I don't suppose we need to," said Dumbledore. "It is enough that he did what he had to, and saved us. It is more than enough."

They sat where they were for some time. Ron knew the Headmaster was right. He wouldn't ask Harry about Voldemort until his friend was good and ready, no matter how badly he wanted to know. 

And feeling Hermione's hand in his, warm and soft and small – he knew that some things were enough. 

~

A shout-out to my old school chaplain, the undeniably cool Fr Sid, who always said: "I wish you just enough." More to come, including more explanations about Malfoy etc., so don't freak out if there are a few loose ends to go. ~airports, see it all the time~ Shez


	34. Awakenings

A/N: Sorry again about the wait. It's hectic here. Incidentally, somebody brought up my 'airports, see it all the time' John reference – yes, it was Mayer-related, and I'm a bit astounded if you haven't picked up on the rest of them! *grin again* … ah well. ~Let's move it along~ (how 'bout that, 'tsk tsk'?) Shez XO

~

There were only three weeks left of their last school year, and for Ron the days passed strangely, and seemed too long. Ron and Hermione had been excused from classes, as had a number of other students, namely those suffering the trauma of losing their friends or being held hostage by Death Eaters. Several had gone home early. Needless to say, there weren't many students attending proper lessons. They drifted in and out haphazardly, and nobody did any work. They sat in the warm air, or swam, or chatted quietly in the common room. People cried sometimes. The mood was sombre, but also, somehow, less oppressive than one might expect. 

It was as though even the _weather _knew Voldemort wasn't around anymore. The sun shone and shone like it didn't know how to do anything else.

Ron was out of the hospital by the end of that first new day, and exhausted in the evening. His family en masse, and all filled with concern (understandable, but frustrating) wore him out. Hermione came into his dorm that night and spent the night in his bed. They didn't do anything, just slept beside each other. She did the same every night, in fact. He was glad she came – no matter how wearying his family members were, he still wasn't ready to be entirely alone yet. 

Once he was alone, he'd have to think about it all, properly, and that didn't sound too appealing.

The dorm was pretty quiet that first night, with only Ron and a remarkably subdued Dean. Seamus had gone home. Harry wasn't conscious. And Neville was still missing.  He turned up, thankfully, the next morning. Luna Lovegood insisted on joining the search party who were venturing into the forest, and, mysteriously, was first on the scene when they found him. Some people – Ron's brother Bill, who'd showed up to help, included – said that it was like she led the way to Neville. He thought she might have a bit of the Sight, the _real _Sight, and Ron didn't know what to make of that. He was bloody glad Neville was OK though. According to what he heard from Hermione, which was a version of the garbled story told _her _by Luna, Neville had managed to escape from the people who were escorting him across the grounds (to where, he didn't know – they were lax in their security, probably because he didn't look threatening). He'd then run directly into the forest, found centaurs, given them a breathless message about Hogwarts being under attack, and then fainted. 

The Centaurs, being rather deliberate creatures, had decided to take a few days to mull all this over and consult the stars. Neville had been stuck with them since – but was now back at Hogwarts, and stuck fast to Luna instead. They barely left each others side, and though Ron never saw them kissing or anything like that, he understood that they were sharing _something_ important, and he was glad for both of them.

Draco Malfoy was a different story. Every day, he went up to the hospital wing, to visit George and Ginny – and every day, he had to pass Malfoy's bed, screened from the rest of the ward by a white curtain. He didn't know what was wrong with the Slytherin (he'd been injured in the battle, Dumbledore said, but maybe he just didn't want to hand him over to the Ministry). He didn't really care, either. He just wanted him _away, _and in Azkaban preferably, or at least somewhere out of sight where he wouldn't have to think of him.

About a week after the attack, and Voldemort's demise, Ron was passing through on his way to say goodbye to George. The twins were Flooing back to London. George claimed he couldn't stand one single solitary day more of both his mother's and Madam Pomfrey's fussing, and had hissed into Ron's ear the previous evening: "We're leaving, and that's it. Don't argue. Don't tell Mum."

So, things being as they were, Ron was in the hospital wing very early that morning, and passing Malfoy's curtained-off bed when he heard what sounded like a mutter. 

He nearly went on, but stopped when he heard it again. 

It wasn't just a mutter. It was Malfoy, muttering: 'Weasley'. 

He stood exactly where he was for a full minute, trying to control his temper, trying to decide whether or not he wanted to hear what the guy had to say. 

In the end, he found himself pulling back the curtains and stepping inside. He had a vague idea that he'd tell Malfoy exactly what he thought of him – but lost all notion of this when he actually _saw_ him. He had a red, scabbing cut running diagonally across his face, all the way from his right temple to his chin. It would leave a deep scar, Ron was sure. His face was paler than usual, his hair loose instead of slick, and his eyes had a heavy, dead, hopeless quality that made Ron lose his words. His wand arm was in bandages.

"What's the matter, Weasley?" Malfoy said faintly, after a long silence. "It's not like you've never seen somebody with a scar on their face before."

Ron shook his head briefly, and Malfoy sighed once before speaking again. 

"How is everybody?"

Another pause. "Alright," Ron managed eventually, in a strangled voice. "A few people are hurt or dead dead, but then, so's Voldemort."

"So it seems," Malfoy said, and hesitated, his eyes flicking away. "And – how is she?"

"Who?"

"Your girlfriend."

His eyes came back to Ron's, and they were half-desperate. Once, he would have felt angry at his questioning, but suddenly there wasn't anything particularly _infuriating _about Malfoy anymore. He'd lost his sting. He was pathetic really, this faded golden boy, who had nothing and nobody left in the world, and had wasted his energy on attempting to please others, and picked the losing side in this battle they'd been fighting for so long.

It was odd, and unsettling. For the first time in his whole life, Ron felt sorry for Draco Malfoy.

"She's OK," he said finally, quietly. "She's not very happy, but she's not hurt, which is the main thing."

"The main thing," Malfoy repeated, and nodded once. "Well – good."

Another long silence. Ron wondered whether he should go, and was about to make a move when Malfoy went on.

"When Mother died, and Father disappeared – I really _was_ with Dumbledore. I wanted to join him. I wanted something, anyway. I wanted people to like me, I suppose, and I wanted to do things my way for a change, and not just Father's. That hadn't mattered before, but I'd had the summer to think it over, and I decided that I wanted to, for me."

He said all this very stiffly, as though he wasn't used to explaining himself to people. Obviously he felt he had to say _something_, and Ron found that he was rooted to the spot, and actually listening. 

"It didn't work out exactly as I'd planned, of course, because I don't think people believed me. I didn't believe myself sometimes. But I thought I'd persevere, because what else is there to do when you're a lone wolf? You've always had Potter and Granger – Hermione, I mean –" Here he tapered off, and seemed at a loss. Ron thought that the term 'a lone wolf' was pretentious, and typically Malfoy, and _hated _that Hermione had come up, but still he felt that pity, and didn't try to stop him.

"I fancied her," Malfoy said slowly, studiously avoiding eye contact. "And I suppose I had for a while, but didn't know what to do with it, because Father would have gone mad. Once he was gone, I tried to be nicer, and she was nice herself – because she's a nice girl, isn't she?" He met Ron's gaze briefly, and Ron nodded. Yeah, she was a nice girl. "Well," Malfoy said, sounding tired, "you got her in the end. You were always going to. And you all hated me – maybe not hated, at least in Potter's case, but you only tolerated me, and when Father's head appeared in my fire one night – it was after we had words at Christmas – I suppose I gave up. Dumbledore's way hadn't worked, and maybe the Dark Lord's would."

"It didn't," Ron said, his voice cracking from lack of sleep and his prolonged silence. Malfoy jerked his head to face Ron, and gave a painful half-smile. 

"No," he said, "it didn't."

"What you did was really awful," Ron said then. It wasn't exactly accusing, or even angry, just a factual statement. "You hurt a lot of people, and killed some, and helped a bad wizard try to do some absolutely bad things. You shouldn't have done it – helped Voldemort. People change, you know. They – we couldn't have hated you forever. You should have just – waited."

"People change, do they?" he said coolly, and even Ron could see the hypocrisy there, because he'd always been the first to say that Malfoy would _never _change.

All of a sudden, he didn't want to have this conversation anymore, and spun on his heel to leave. Two sharp words from Draco followed him out.

"Weasley – thanks."

Ron went to find George.

It wasn't until later that he realised Malfoy, in all of his explanations, hadn't offered up a single apology. 

He didn't mention the conversation to Hermione.

~

Two weeks after the battle, Harry woke up. It was mid-morning, and Ron and Hermione were in the process of leaving Harry's bedside to meet Ginny for a walk (Ginny having been up and about for a few days now, and so worried about Harry that they were forced to distract her). 

Ron was halfway out the door when Hermione gave a cry, and he turned to see her covering her mouth with her hand. She was looking at Harry's bed. He came back into the room – and his friend was lying there awake, squinting at Hermione, the sun from an open window shining light full in his face.

"Harry," Ron said from the doorway.

"Hi, Ron. 'Mione," said Harry, without much of a voice, and Ron felt his throat constrict. 

_Don't cry_, he told himself fiercely, _there's nothing to cry about. _ 

"You're awake," Hermione said softly, and Harry shifted just slightly, and winced. 

"Yeah," he said eventually. "I am."

A long, long silence followed this, and Ron moved closer, to sit on the end of Harry's bed. Hermione came closer too, and perched on Ron's knee. She'd never done this before, and as Ron looked at Harry – awake, alive – and felt Hermione's weight on his legs, he broke into a smile. 

"Well done, mate," he said eventually. "You're all in one piece."

"Think so?" Harry rasped. 

"Voldemort's dead," said Hermione softly. "You killed him. They found his body, and the Death Eaters are gone, and the school's back to normal."

"Dead?" This seemed about all he could absorb. "Voldemort?"

Ron and Hermione nodded, in sober unison. Harry stared at them, and then at his bedcovers, and then blinked heavily a few times and pressed his lips together. Ron didn't know what was wrong, but then Harry let out a long breath, and closed his eyes, and his shoulders began to shake. 

He was crying.

After a few moments stunned pause, Hermione and Ron both leapt into action.

"Oh Harry!" Hermione said, on a half-choked sob, and she threw her arms around him. He hugged her tightly, and then Ron (who had tears on his eyelashes now, and didn't care who saw) hugged both of them, and they were locked in a tight three-person embrace until Mrs Weasley came in, and then they were four.

He'd been wrong – there _was _something to cry about. Voldemort was dead, and he'd done horrible things, and now he was gone. It was _life _they were crying about, and the passage of events, and the uselessness of wasted time and wasted lives, and freedom, for the first time in years. 

And it was relief, more than anything. Just – relief. 

Seeing Harry cry, Ron believed that it was over for good, because Harry would only let himself do that, only let himself give in, if he knew that he'd never face Voldemort again. 

~

On Ron's last evening at Hogwarts, he found himself unable to sleep. Harry had vacated Hermione's room that day, and was meant to be back in the Gryffindor dorm, but had snuck out to see Ginny instead. He wasn't even supposed to be up yet, but Ron wasn't going to deny him 'alone time' with his girlfriend. He could probably use it. He hadn't taken the news of Lupin's stable-but-critical condition in St Mungo's very well, and was very quiet. Dean had gone home too, along with Seamus, and Neville wasn't in bed. Visiting Luna again, he suspected. It was very quiet, and Hermione hadn't shown up yet, and his deeper thoughts were just beginning to harass his more conscious mind when she knocked softly on the door.

"Come in," he called, and she did so, and he heard her feet padding lightly across the carpet. She pulled back his curtains and he put back the bedcovers so that she could hop in. She did so, and kissed him briefly before positioning herself so that they were spooning, her back against his front. He slid his arm around her waist and let his hand come to rest on her belly, and they were silent for a little while. 

"You know, you don't have to knock," he murmured eventually. 

"It's polite."

"There's only me here."

"You could have been busy."

"It's midnight. With what exactly would I be busy?"

"That's your business," she said archly, and he nudged her once. 

"Very funny."

"Where's Harry, anyway?"

"Off with Ginny."

"You think that's alright?"

"I think it's alright, or I would have said something."

"I think it's alright too."

"Good."

A long silence. He rubbed her stomach in small circles, almost unconsciously, liking the way it felt under his hand, and beneath the thin cotton of her nightie she came up in goosebumps.

"Are you cold?" he asked quietly, and she shook her head. 

"No. That tickles a bit. In a good way."

"Right. Shall I stop?"

"No."

She pressed her back against him, and he swallowed. They hadn't done anything like this in a while, since before that last ill-fated quidditch game. She'd slept in his bed every night, but they hadn't – well, there hadn't really been the inclination.

"Do you want to?" Ron said, still quiet, and this time she paused before nodding, and turning to face him. Her expression was serious, and he kissed her, because he loved it when she looked serious like that. It drove her crazy when they were trying to do homework – 'Do you only ever think about sex, Ron?' – but she didn't say anything this time, just kissed him back, and then kissed his chin and his ear and his neck. She tasted like mint toothpaste. Pretty soon, he was fumbling with the ties of her nightie, glad that it was night and she wasn't wearing a bra, and meanwhile she was pulling off his boxers, and her hands were hot, and then she was on top of him, and then he wasn't thinking very coherently at all. 

Afterwards, with her half-asleep and curled up in the crook of his arm, he realised how much he'd missed this. With her, it wasn't just sex. Sex was too small a word. It was warmth and comfort, and a gift somehow, every time. 

He didn't know how to tell her this, or get his thoughts into words, so he just let her sleep. For a while, he watched her, but eventually became so tired that he couldn't keep his eyes open. 

He dreamt badly. From across a crowded room, he saw Lucius Malfoy point his wand at Hermione, and couldn't get through all the people to save her. She kept disappearing, and then reappearing in other places, so that he never knew exactly where she was.

~

A/N: More to come, ASAP. ~you can cross the line whenever you want to~ Shez 


	35. The End of Something

When Ron woke up, he started (as per usual) when he felt Hermione beside him, and then remembered that she'd spent the night. She was all tucked up in a ball, knees almost touching her chest. She didn't have much of the covers over her. He hoped she hadn't got cold in the night, and nudged her a bit to see if she was awake.

She started herself and rolled over quickly to face him, her limbs unfurling and stretching out. The side of her bare leg touched the side of his, all the way down. It sent a thrill down his spine, but he controlled himself as best he could, and smiled at her. 

"Morning," she said sleepily.

"Hello. Sorry I woke you."

"It's time to hop up, anyway."

"Did you get cold?"

"Oh, a little. I'm alright."

"You should have taken some blanket."

"I'm fine, honestly."

"Just tug it off me next time," he protested. "As long as you leave me a bit. Remember what I said –"

"I don't need to be polite," she finished for him. "Thanks, Ron, but I'm OK. Really."

She pushed the covers away and slipped out of bed, dressing with that swift Hermione-grace she had. While he liked watching her change, it also meant that she was all covered up again, and about to go, and he didn't like that so much.

Except she didn't go. She sat on the edge of his bed, facing away from him, head lowered slightly, not saying anything. Ron waited a while, and then wriggled closer, sitting up and touching her back.

"Are you OK?"

She shook her head mutely, and he had the sudden, wild thought that maybe the sex hadn't been good. But that didn't make sense, because she'd – er, seemed happy. He'd thought so, anyway. He found himself flushing, and was just about to ask, when she spoke up. 

"You saved my life when the Death Eaters were here, and – I didn't know how to bring it up, but I just – I wanted to say thank you, and – I just – thank you."

She stopped abruptly, biting her lip, and Ron didn't know what to make of it.

"I don't want you to _thank _me," he said eventually, uncomfortably. "What else was I going to do?"

"I don't know."

"Are you taking the mickey?" he demanded, incredulous now. "I – well, I love you, don't I, and that's what people do when they love each other. They take risks for each other, and – they'd do anything – to stop the other person from being hurt. I mean, you'd probably have done the same thing if it was the other way round. And I couldn't just watch. And my wand was in my pocket. So I – so that's what I did," he finished, trailing off a bit. He didn't know quite what he was trying to say, but he didn't want her thanks, not for that.  

There was a long silence.

"I would have," she said, just as he was beginning to think she wasn't listening.

"Would have what?" he asked, a bit nervously.

"I would have done the same." 

She met his eye properly now, and he felt like his heart was being squeezed out of his body. 

"Well – OK," he managed. 

She put a hand on top of his head, flattening his hair, and smiled slightly.

"And I know you don't want me too, but I have to thank you. You were really brave, Ron."

He couldn't even speak then. His ears burnt red, and he mumbled something along the lines of 'shuddup-and-fuggedaboutit', but inside he was glowing.

Hermione kissed him once, soundly, and then stood. He did the same, grabbing his boxers and yanking them on as he spoke. 

"Are you going?" he asked, even though it was a stupid question. 

"Yes, I'm going." She sighed nostalgically. "I have to put my uniform on. It's our last day at Hogwarts." 

"Right. Crap."

"Don't –"

"I know. Sorry."

"Well. I'm going to head back to my room."

"You could just go down to the Great Hall like that."

"No thank you," she said, raising her eyebrows. "Can you see McGonagall's face?"

"More like, can you see my Mum's?" he pointed out, and tucked a loose curl behind her ear. "Anyway, I don't think they'd be _that _worried, not with things as they are. Everything's out of order."

"I suppose," she agreed, rather soberly, and he immediately wished he hadn't mentioned it. As always with Voldemort, even in death, it was easier not to think about him. 

"See you soon, then," he said, pulling back the curtains and kissing her, just as Harry re-entered the room. He tried to backtrack as soon as he saw Ron in his boxers, and Hermione in her nightie, but Hermione waved him back in. 

"Don't be silly, I'm going," she said.

"Sorry, I can –"

"Honestly," she insisted, her cheeks only a little red. "I'm going right now."

And in just a few seconds, she _was_ gone, and Ron was left standing alone in his underwear.

"Er – hi," he said, and Harry managed a small, lopsided smile, the first Ron had seen all week. 

"Hello. Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"No. We're – finished," he said, rather lamely, and Harry nodded, smile dropping away.

"Right." He moved to his bedside table to get his uniform. Ron noticed that he was wearing the same jeans and t-shirt as the previous night, but chose not to comment. He hoped Ginny had made him feel a bit better. He did seem – he couldn't pick it exactly. Lighter, maybe. Less weighed-down. But his eyes were still underscored in dark circles, and when he glanced at Ron, there was that same haunted shadow in their corners. 

"What?" he asked, and Ron shook his head. 

"Nothing. I'm – nothing."

Harry shut his drawer, and Ron noticed that his hands were trembling, very slightly. They'd been doing that since he woke up. Pomfrey said it was a nervous reaction, and would probably disappear over the summer. Harry was self-conscious about it and, noticing Ron noticing, put both hands in the pockets of his school robes.

"Well?" he said, a bit defensively. "Are you getting changed too?"

"Yeah."

He did so, quickly, and Harry waited for him, flattening his hair over his scar. It was a bit red, but not as noticeable as previously. 

"Hair alright?" Ron asked, as Harry's hand went up to his fringe for the hundredth time, and Harry jerked his hand away. 

"Sorry," he muttered. "Thought the bloody thing might disappear when I – you know."

"Yeah. Never mind." He hesitated, feeling as though he should say something more, but didn't know exactly how to approach Harry with sympathy. He'd never taken well to it, and Ron didn't think he ever would, but there had to be a way of saying it – of saying how glad he was that Harry was alive, that he didn't have to fight Voldemort again, that things could go back to some degree of normality. 

There had to be a way – but in the week Harry'd been walking about, he hadn't come up with one yet. 

"Come on," Harry said suddenly, and walked out. 

Ron followed him, all the way down to the Great Hall. Harry hadn't made much of an appearance there, only just before or after meals, in order to miss the inquisitive audience. Ron didn't say a word as he headed for the doors, but stopped him as they were about to enter. 

"Harry – d'you want to go in there?"

"Yes."

"It's the middle of breakfast."

"I know."

"Everyone's there."

"I know."

"And –"

"Ron," Harry said, eyes on the door handle. "I want to do this. I want things to be normal, and I want to eat breakfast like everyone else." 

He sounded so determined, so _himself_, that Ron let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. 

"Right," he said firmly, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Right, then. Go on."

They pushed open the doors, and walked right in as though it was any other morning. Hermione was already in place next to Ginny, and Ron kept his gaze on them as every head – literally every head, including those of the staff – swivelled to watch their progress to the Gryffindor table. 

"Freak show, aren't I?" Harry said in his ear, through gritted teeth, and Ron shook his head slightly.

"Forget about it. You're fine."  
As soon as they sat (Harry on Ginny's left, Ron on Hermione's right), muttering rose up from all areas of the room. Harry ignored it studiously, said a few brief words to Ginny, and then began to serve himself breakfast. 

"He's here," Hermione breathed in his ear, and he turned so that their noses almost bumped. He grinned, and so did she, and then they both pulled back a little. 

"Yeah," Ron said, in an undertone. "He wanted to. Wanted things to be normal."

"Oh. Of course." She paused as Ron put toast on his plate, and then leant close again. "Things aren't normal, though. I don't suppose they will be for a while."

Ron buttered his crisp bread. "Well, he has to make the effort, doesn't he? He wants to be himself and forget about it, and that's just what he's doing."

"That can't be healthy, forgetting about it," Hermione worried, but he cut her off, pointing his fork at her. 

"'Mione, don't start. He's doing his best. He'll talk about it when he's good and ready."

This was exactly the way Ron felt about Lucius Malfoy. He couldn't examine the issue head on, so he shoved it down, consciously deciding to consider it later.

She eyed him briefly, and then shook her head in a sort of half-agreement. "Right," said Ron, hoping Harry hadn't heard them. He was fairly engrossed in his food, and whispers to Ginny, so it was a fair chance he wasn't listening. "Right," he repeated. "Did you save me any bacon?"

She gave him a look. "I thought you said the platters refill every fifteen minutes?"

"I did."

She went on looking at him for a while, and then sighed, and passed the pile on her plate onto his. "Alright, I saved you some. Happy?"

"Very," he said, and kissed her ear. "Thanks, love."

She smiled a bit. He knew he was in her good books then. She liked it when he called her that.

~

After breakfast, the other grades filed out, and the seventh-years remained for their graduation. Various relatives showed up, including the entire Weasley clan, minus Percy. While Ron knew his parents had reconciled with his brother, the rest of them hadn't, and Ron didn't think he was quite up to it yet. He'd received a few awkward letters, but that was all. Fred and George refused to see him altogether, or even write. 

It was like he'd always said – the twins were terrible when they were angry. 

Fleur was also in attendance, with Bill. They were back from Paris, he presumed. She sent him an enthusiastic wave from across the room, and he returned it. Hermione made a funny sound, and he glanced at her. 

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Is it Fleur?"

"Is what Fleur?"

Ron looked at his brother's girlfriend, and then back to his own. Once, Fleur could make him feel dizzy just passing in the corridor. Now, it was like waving at a stranger. It didn't mean anything important.

"She's got nothing on you," he said lowly, nudging her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smile again, and then nudge him back. 

"Shut up, Ron," she said.

Ron saw Snape shift in his seat, and then remembered that Draco Malfoy wasn't present. He was still recovering in hospital – still in the Headmaster's custody, as well. Ron didn't think anyone knew quite what to do about him, and was going to ask Hermione if she had an idea, when McGonagall announced the beginning of the ceremony.

It was over fairly soon afterwards (the Transfiguration professor was always efficient when it came to these things), and they were all seated at their respective tables as Dumbledore rose to make his traditional graduating speech. The room was suddenly tense with anticipation – because there was so much to say, and no easy way to say it. 

He stared down at his lectern for a little while, and then rose his head and spoke. 

"The events of this year – particularly these past few weeks – have changed many things. We are all aware of that. We are also aware of the fact that Voldemort is dead. Please, don't flinch at my use of this man's name. He is entirely gone, and the misplaced fear that guided our previously masked references to him are even more misplaced now, in his absence."

Dumbledore's eyes travelled across the room, and finally came to rest on Harry. Harry met his gaze bravely for half a minute, and then had to look away. 

"There are certain people to whom we owe a great deal," Dumbledore said gravely. "And there are certain people who have suffered greatly at our expense. I hope that you will keep them in your thoughts this summer – our gamekeeper, Rubeus Hagrid; our Defence teacher, Professor Lupin, who remains in St Mungo's; our Aurors; Ministry officials …" There was a long silence, and then Dumbledore had to stop looking at Harry too. "Our courageous students," he said eventually, "who have exceeded all my expectations, and proved themselves – proved themselves more than capable of going out into the world." 

Hermione's hand had found its way into his, and he clutched it hard. It hit him, very abruptly, that they wouldn't be back here again like this, and the thought was hard to take. He glanced around the table – there was Neville, and Seamus, and Lavender, and all the people who'd been part of his childhood, whom he'd seen nearly every day for seven years.  

And after them all, Harry and Hermione, who were so much a part of his life that he could hardly picture himself without them. 

There were tears shining in Hermione's eyes, but she blinked them away, and he had the fierce urge to ask her to promise not to disappear after all this, but then he remembered that Dumbledore was speaking, and dragged his thoughts back into focus. 

"You have done well," he pronounced, reaching his conclusion, "and I am immensely proud of you. Subsequently, I have decided _not _to give a single house the Cup this year."

There were sharp whisperings at this, which he quieted with a waving hand. 

"This year," he said, speaking more loudly, "for the first time in – what is it, Minerva, three centuries?"

His eyes were twinkling now, and McGonagall responded with a single, quite delicate nod. 

"Well, then. This year, for the first time in three centuries, I would like to announce that we have a draw. All four houses have taken the House Cup."

And with that, he raised his hands, and the entire Hall filled with decorations of red, gold, blue and green, spilling from every corner, ribbons and confetti and balloons and banners, and there seemed to be music too, triumphant, resounding over all their heads. Everyone began to smile, and then laugh, and then Ron found himself whooping crazily. They stood, cheering as though they were at a Quidditch match, and Ron pulled Hermione up with him, an arm around her waist. 

Harry didn't stand – but he had a slow, quiet smile on his face, looking at the decorations, and Ron knew he was as close to happy right now as he could be. 

When they'd all settled again, Dumbledore began to call for silence. Everything twinkled and bobbed in the air, as though stopped with his instruction, and they turned to face their Headmaster. 

"That went down well," he murmured, and then raised his voice once more. "I will announce this again at our full assembly. In the meantime, I suggest that you complete your packing, and make your way down to the platform before noon."

And with that, Dumbledore took his seat, and the decorations continued to fall and spin, and the Hall filled with chatting and exclamations.

"Train already?" Ron asked, a bit bewildered. 

"Seventh-years have preference on the ride back," Hermione shrugged. "Didn't you know?"

"No," he said, "but I like it. Maybe we can – find a compartment for ourselves."

She slapped his arm, then laughed at bit and leant against him. 

"Harry –" Ron began, craning his neck to find his friend, but then stopped when he saw that he was in the middle of kissing his sister. They were half-hidden by balloons, glittery red and gold pieces floating down onto their hair, and it was such an oddly private moment that Ron had to look away. 

"Oh," said Hermione softly, gripping his arm now. 

"What?" he asked, but then understood as he spotted the Weasleys making their collective way towards him. "What are you worried about?" he said, but she couldn't reply, because his family was already there, and his mum was sweeping him up into a hug – he'd had a few of those these past weeks – and bawling.

"You did very well," she sobbed, "and you looked so tall up there!"

"I am tall," he said chokingly, and wriggled his way out of her grip. "Hello Mum."

Then his dad was there too, and he hugged Ron quickly, and ruffled his hair. 

"Well done," he said, and Ron shrugged with one shoulder. His dad hadn't been around much this year, but Ron knew he tried, and was glad that he'd come. 

"Make way," announced Fred and George, pushing in front of Bill and Fleur. Fleur said something cranky in French, but Bill just smiled indulgently and let them. "Well," said Fred, hands on his hips. "Here we are, then. Come on, invalid," he added, and hit George with an elbow. George rolled his eyes and put out his left hand – his right was still in bandages. 

"Lovely graduation," he said earnestly. "Shame about your hair, though."

"Ha-ha," Ron said, unable to come up with something better. 

"You look comfortable," Fred commented.

"Happy," said George.

"Content, even."

"Must be all the –" George began in a stage whisper, and Ron cut him off before he could use the s-word in front of their mother. 

"Thanks for coming," he said through gritted teeth – then realised, with Fred's sudden smirk, that he'd set himself up for a 'coming' joke. Luckily, Bill had decided it was his turn to shake hands, and then Fleur (who held his hand, rather than shook it), and then Charlie, and then he'd done everybody and they all stood in silence a moment. 

Ron looked at Hermione and squeezed her hand, and Mrs Weasley jumped.

"Oh, you too dear!" she said hastily. "Oh, you did marvellously!"

She gathered Hermione in a tight hug, and then pulled her back to examine her. 

"Your parents are here?"

"They couldn't make it," Hermione said. "They're working."

"Oh, never mind. And you look lovely! Just – lovely."

"Yeah, she does," Ron said, without really thinking, and his mother glanced at him in surprise.

"Thank you, Mrs Weasley," Hermione mumbled, flushing, even as Ron did the same. Did he just say that, in front of everyone?

His mother looked from her son to Hermione, and back to her son again, before she understood. 

"Are you two …" she began incredulously, and then, as Ron became even more embarrassed, hugged Hermione a second time. "Oh dear," she said, and began to cry again. "Well, that's lovely too."

It was quite some time before Hermione was able to extricate herself from Mrs Weasley's embrace, but once she had, she went to stand beside Ron and his whole family grinned at them, Fred and George with particular amusement. 

"I – guess we'd better go and get our trunks," Ron said finally.

"Yes, we ought to," Hermione agreed. 

"Oh. Right. See you at home, then," Mrs Weasley said. "And don't forget all your things, will you? Make sure you put them in the luggage compartment before you do anything else_._"

"Of course," said Ron, and then Hermione tugged him away.

"Now where's Harry?" he heard his mother say as they left. 

Ron really hoped he'd stopped kissing Ginny. He didn't know if his mum could handle much more. 

~

Everyone was waiting at the platform, including the staff. When Ron and Hermione came down (Ron lugging both trunks, because Hermione had a pile of books that wouldn't fit inside), Harry was saying goodbye to Hagrid. They joined him, breathless, just as the two broke their hug. 

"Ron, 'Mione," said Hagrid, smiling shakily. "Alrigh'?"

"Yes, thanks," said Hermione. 

"Rubbish. Le' me take those for yeh." He hoisted their trunks up, strode over to the compartment, and stowed them carefully away before adding Hermione's book-pile. When he was done, he made a show of dusting off his hands, and then put them on his hips.

"Well," he said. "Firs' years no more, eh? I was jus' telling Harry here that I've a mind t' retire."

"Retire?" Ron said, startled, and Hagrid gave a strange shrug.

"Ah, I'm no' as young as I used t' be, yeh know," he said. "An' – I think I'd like to spen' some time jus', you know, sorting things out." 

He seemed shy, and Ron didn't pursue the issue. 

"Hagrid – I – " he began, but then the gamekeeper put one arm around him, and the other round 'Mione, and held them (rather too tightly). 

"S'alrigh'," he said, sniffing loudly before letting go. "I'll be seeing you very soon. P'raps in London or some-such?"

"Of course," said Hermione, sniffing herself, albeit more surreptitiously. She glanced at Harry, who had his eyes on his feet, and then looked back at Hagrid. "We'll miss you," she said, but then the first train whistle sounded, and Hagrid jumped.

"I'd bes' be off," he said. "Be good, won't yeh?"

He moved away down the platform, and they watched him go.

"He seems nervous, doesn't he?" Ron commented. 

"It's the Death Eaters," Harry said shortly. "He remembered what happened with the giants when they came, he said, and he's been strange ever since."

Before Ron or Hermione could reply, McGonagall was there, shaking each of their hands and wishing them well with a firm formality. She looked at though she might hug them too, but thought better of it, and suggested they call her once they had their placements, to let her know what they'd be doing. 

The second whistle came, and by now the other years were streaming onto the train too, and they were losing their seventh-year privileges. Hooch and Sprout offered quick goodbyes – Hooch insisted that Harry would fly for England one day, but this enthusiasm only succeeded in making him uncomfortable – and they were just climbing onboard, Harry and Hermione ahead, when Ron felt a tug on the back of his jumper. 

It was Snape.

"Leaving without a word of goodbye, Weasley?" he said archly, and then, to Ron's utter shock, he held out his hand. 

Ron considered not taking it, but then threw the concept out. If Snape could be gracious, then bloody hell, so could he. He shook his hand carefully, and then Snape was releasing it, and striding off. 

He didn't have time to think about this, because Hermione was calling him. He ducked inside, shut the door, and watched the platform, via a small window, as it began to slide away. 

At the very end of the platform stood Dumbledore, alone. He raised his hand as the train went by, and then they picked up speed, and he was gone.

~

They found a compartment to fit the four of them, despite Ron's suggestion, and had a relatively quiet trip back. Hermione fell asleep with her head in his lap, and Ginny and Harry held hands and spoke occasionally. 

He watched her sleeping, not for the first time, and felt, not for the first time, like he hardly deserved her. In fact, he had a sense that he'd feel like this for the rest of his life – and then realised that he was thinking about her and the rest of his life simultaneously, and that he didn't dislike what that implied. 

Actually, he didn't know what the rest of his life _was _without her in it.

She stirred as they reached Platform 9 and ¾, and sat up.

"Sorry, did I hurt your legs?"

"No," he said, and had to clear his throat, because his voice didn't come out right. "No, I'm OK."

"Are you sure? You look a bit funny."

"I'm fine," he said honestly. "Better than fine."

She smiled, puzzled, and then glanced at Harry, who was scanning the platform. Mrs Weasley was there, minus her entourage, but Harry's Muggles were decidedly absent. 

"Thank God," he said faintly, and Ginny frowned at him.

"What?"

"No Durselys," he said.

She brushed back a bit of his hair and rested her head on his shoulder. "No," she said. "You're coming home with us."

Ron could have sworn she almost said 'with me' instead. 

"Ron. Hey. Are you coming?" said Hermione. She waved a hand in front of his face, and raised her eyebrows at him.

"Wow, 'Mione," he said. "This is it."

She knew what he meant right away. "I know," she agreed.

"When we get off this train, that's the end."

"No," she said, taking his wrists and pulling him upright with an effort. "It's not the end. I don't know what it is – but it's not the end."

Ron looked from Harry, whose gaze was still on the station, to Ginny, who had her eyes on her boyfriend, and then back at Hermione, all beautiful, knotted hair and big eyes and serious, set lips. 

She was right. It might be the end of Hogwarts for them – the end of an era, even – but it wasn't the end of everything. 

Some people might even call it a beginning. 

He didn't know what was going to happen next. He didn't know how his N.E.W.T.s would turn out, or whether Lupin would live, or if they'd catch every Death Eater still roaming the planet, or if Hagrid would ever come back to Hogwarts, or if Draco Malfoy would go to prison, or – hell, if he'd be with Hermione for the rest of his life. 

All he knew was, no matter what had happened, or what they'd done – there were still more things to happen, and more things to do ahead. 

So he took a deep breath, and Hermione's hand, and stepped out.

THE END

~

A Word 

Hurrah! It was time to finish this, I think. I'm quite buggered, as it happens, and I believe the story's gone about as far as it can go for now. One day, I may return to it – who knows 'what's going to happen next' – but right now, I've had enough. :)

More than anything, I have to thank all you reviewers for being incredible. As per usual. I've loved reading everything you've said, good and bad, and you were usually so nice and helpful and sweet that – well, it brings a tear to the eye. I'm sorry I kept you waiting these last few chaps … as I said, crazy life taking over, and my trip is edging nearer and nearer and scaring me with how disorganised I am. As you can imagine, I probably won't be back writing on fanfic for a while, but when I am, I might give that 'Aftermath' sequel a shot, and see how I feel after that. 

I'd also like to formally dedicate this fic to Meegs, who should get a medal for all the little things she does that make people happy. 

Again, thanks for the support. I'll see you on the other side – of the world, hehehe!

~no more 3x5s~ and be good

Shez XXOO


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